


Reckless In Love

by PaperAnn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Canon Compliant, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Dean, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Post-Hell, Relationship Issues, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperAnn/pseuds/PaperAnn
Summary: When Dean fought his way through the soil to an Earth he never thought he’d see again, he didn’t care how he escaped Hell. The only thing on his mind was seeing Sammy. It turned out to be harder than he thought, but with the aid of Bobby they found him: post-party, having a fuckin’ blast with some half-naked chick in a motel room.It was almost a punch to the gut when she asked the million dollar question—“if they were together” and Sam couldn’t say “they’re brothers” fast enough. Of friggin course, they never flaunted ‘it’, but Sam was acting cagey. Like he genuinely meant it.Dean knew damn well his brains hadn’t scrambled. He knew he hadn’t imagined Sam’s urgent confession the moment his one-year-left Crossroad’s Contract was revealed. And…his own astonishment, upon discovery, because Dean felt the same way.If there was helluva way to go out? God, it’d be that year—every day (every second) was lived with passion, freedom and without regret. But most important: they lived fearlessly with each other.Had Sam's mind changed after Dean died?  Was he humoring the last wishes of a dying man?Either way, if Sam didn't feel the same anymore…maybe Dean should have stayed in the pit.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was so amazingly lucky to be picked by the wonderful and talented [Loracine](https://loracine.livejournal.com) for this Big Bang, and I had a fantastic time working with her! Not only is her art phenomenal, I had a blast with the entire collaboration process but I cannot thank her enough for her perfect creations!
> 
> You MUST [View the Art Post Here!](https://loracine.livejournal.com/35139.html) See those awesome pieces in their full glory! <3
> 
>  **Ann's Notes:** This fic was written for the Wincest Big Bang and this was my first time participating! I've written some shorter fics with this ship for Kink Bingo, but I'm really excited to post a full-out Big Bang, really dig into the plot and have some fun! That you for reading, and I'd love to hear some feedback! xoxo

  
  
The first thing that Dean Winchester noticed was the temperature.  He wasn’t dripping sweat out of each and every pour from the inferno of Hell.  There wasn’t the warm, sticky blood of his victims gushing down his body like a waterfall, and for a split second, Dean wondered if this was some kind of morbid, new torture method.  Had he not been doing his job, had he not—  
  
Except, when he opened his eyes, he was in a wooden box.  His very own coffin six feet under, because he knew the scent of dirt.  He’d been on enough salt and burns to know the old, musty and heavy smell of the earth and it felt pretty damn authentic.

It figured; Sam wouldn’t give him a hunter’s funeral.  The same way Dean had downright _refused_ to give one to his brother.  They were both so tainted by hope, by those small, minuscule chances they’d get each other back, they never burned the body even though it went against everything they were taught.    
  
Even though he was buried, when Dean began to move around and take stock of the damage he realized there wasn’t any.    
  
He was _whole_.  He didn’t hurt.  He wasn’t in the condition he’d left in: ripped to shreds, torn apart by Hellhounds when he was dragged under—  
  
That could only mean one thing.

Dean set his jaw and fought like hell.  His steel-toed boot kicked the wood, smashed it into splinters and he desperately dug himself out of the fucking half-assed Ikea-grade box!  It was a damn shallow grave, even though he was choking on dirt and had a lovely collection of earthworms gripping his t-shirt.  When he took his first, full-out breath of fresh air he _knew_.

He’d been resurrected.

This was real, this—the amazing scent of fresh air, it couldn’t be replicated alongside scorched flesh.  Dean would take this rather than burning bodies and boiled blood.  The memory of flayed meat— _human meat_ and, oh God, the echo of screams.  

Dean took a second and closed his eyes.  He basked in the moment and refused to let a second go by where he wasn’t thankful.  He...needed this.  Sun on his back instead of flames licking his flesh until it had sizzled downward, deep beyond the muscle and turned his bones to ash.  The ambiance of the trees and the flowers, even the grass was the new gold standard.  
  
But it begged the question:  _how_ did this happen?  His fists clenched, because if his brother had made a deal, Dean would be seething, he’d be—

That’s when the _details_ of his surroundings caught his attention.  Up until now, everything was a blur, it was grainy but nothing about this scene was normal...    
  
The trees, it looked like a friggin meteorite landed here and they were knocked down all the way from the root, collapsed backwards with his grave being ground zero.  That…made even less sense.  Taking all of this into account, Dean was pretty damn sure Sam didn’t have a hand in it.

Thank God, he didn’t want to rip him a new asshole, he just needed to see him.  Now.    
  
Except, when Dean stood up and looked around for a direction to move in…he had no idea where the fuck he was!  Which route to take.  How to get out of these woods.

Well, might as well just start the hike, right?  He was bound to run into something.  Civilization, a road, hell, maybe a nature-loving hippie who knew the area.  Dean needed to get his ass moving, was the moral of the story.

He grumbled out a string of curses, hating being in the dark in any friggin situation, but moved.    
  
Yet, actually smiled at seeing the blue sky instead of the fiery pit, all the black smoke, made him smile.  He honestly couldn’t believe he got out, but he needed to know how because good things didn’t just happen.  Not to mention, what the fuck got him out and what had that power?  But the thing spurring him on and power-walking (let’s be serious, okay?  Jogging _ain’t_ his thing) was the promise of _seeing Sam._  

Hell, it was one of the only things that kept him sane downstairs.

Eventually, he caught sight of a gas station.  Hell yes!

The necessity that made him sprint was the undying thirst he had.  Jesus!  He felt like a fucking desert rolled into his mouth and down his throat, and when he glanced around the place it was…empty?  Oh well.  Dean wasn’t even sure he had a wallet, let alone money.  So he pocketed some snacks for his road trip, even more water and then he made his way to the bathroom because something didn’t feel right.

He’d noticed this itching, this kind of pulse every now and then on his arm while he was walking but he ignored it.  Dean had better things to do and he didn’t figure it was much of anything.  It didn’t even register until the gas station, but by then, the pulsing had this...heat, too.  When he grabbed his sleeve and lifted it up—

“The _fuck_?!” the words tumbled from his mouth, because this hand print, it was like a brand.  He would bet freaking money that this, right here, was the creature that pulled him out.

And, apparently, it enjoyed claiming his work.  Fuck no!  This was coming right off the second they found a way to remove it!

That’s when a faint, slow ringing echoed off the walls.  He looked around cautiously, because the once faraway noise was building.  It was getting louder and louder, _exponentially so,_ and Dean had to cover his ears.  It was like an attack, some kind of screeching that had his eardrums rattling and Dean was honestly petrified the pitch and the volume were going to burst.  Leave him deaf, leave him—!

The noise shattered the windows and the mirror, all the glass exploded into the room and the only thing he could do to defend himself was duck.  What was going on?!  His gut feeling told him this was what saved him, so why was it trying to fuckin’ kill him, right now?!  Wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose?!

When he shouted out in pain, that’s when everything went dead silent.

Slowly but surely, Dean looked around and tried to avoid the huge glass panels in pieces on the floor as he made his way back to the front of the store. There was one thing he noticed that instantly caught his eye.

A phone at the front desk.  He dove for it, dialed Sam’s number desperately hoping to hear his voice…but there was no answer.  Shit.

Dean was frustrated.  But the next best bet?  Bobby.  Except when the damn geezer picked up, he didn’t believe a word Dean said and hung up.  Great!  Resurrection was just fuckin’ great!  It looked like he was about to make some house calls.    
  
He had no idea where Sammy was, but you couldn’t get Bobby out of his home-sweet-home unless the world was ending.

So Dean searched around out front for a car to hotwire.  Once that was finished, he cruised (more so sped like a bat out of hell) to Sioux Falls.  He needed some answers, and he needed some now.  Even though there were so many questions, he had an idea of where to begin.  Or, rather, his heart did.

\----------------------

Of course, he should have expected it.  It only made sense.

Holy water doused directly to the face.  A slash from a silver knife.  The works.  And after he wiped the damn direct-hit of liquid from his face, Bobby’s eyes were wide and his jaw was dropped.

He practically tackled Dean with everything in him.  “God, I missed you, boy,” he was fighting tears, “ _How_ …I mean, we looked into lore, we checked _everything_ but we came up with zip.  I'm so happy to see you back.”

“Believe me, I’m happy to be back.”  He heartily clapped Bobby on the shoulder and pulled away.  Dean pulled up his sleeve to showcase the mark on his arm and explained, “I think it’s a ‘what’ that saved me.  No ideas, comin’ up dry as you.  But there has to be something, right?”  Then, almost cautiously, he asked, “Where’s Sam?”

“He…didn’t handle it well,” Bobby shook his head with a sigh, “I haven’t seen ‘im in months.  I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Dammit.”  Dean buried his face in his hands, because he _knew_ this was his fault.  He never should have...

No, that was a lie.  He _wanted_ his brother to live.  That was the entire point of the deal.  And they’d made the most of their time together.  Dean knew that Sam was sensitive, he knew he wouldn’t take it well, just as Bobby had said.  It was all the more reason to come back to Sam the moment he clawed his way back into the world.

“His GPS.  We can track him,” Dean suddenly blurted out.  “I need to see him.  Now.”

“Yeah, all right.”  Bobby understood how close the brothers were.

He simply didn’t know _how_ close.

It turned out once they pinged Sam’s location, Dean was backtracking to the place he’d been buried.  Call Sam sentimental, staying near his brother’s grave.  Something about that made him grin as they pulled up to the motel.  He couldn’t wait to see Sam’s face when they were reunited.  Hell, Dean’s heart was beating double time.  
  
The fact that everything worked out?  That they both cheated death?  That they could do this, _they_ could work?  It meant everything.  Dean tried his damnedest to hide his giddy excitement from Bobby, he really did, but seeing Sammy?  It was everything.  
  
When they pulled into the motel parking lot, Dean had to center him and try not to bounce like a sugar-shocked child full'a pixie sticks towards the door.  
  
He had to play it cool, sure, he was thrilled but—okay, there was no but: Dean was over the moon to see Sammy again.  These were black and white facts, no gray area in between.  Dean was floating and glowing with his fist poised in front of the room.  
  
Except when they knocked on the door and it opened, Dean’s stomach dropped and he was left in absolute shock.  All the joy evaporated, it was a slap in the face, then a punch to the fuckin’ gut.  

Because, maybe Sam wasn’t as sentimental as he’d previously thought.  Wow.   _That_ …Fuck.  It took his brother no time at all to move on.

“Hey, are you the pizza guys?” a woman asked, but after looking around (only clad in a bra and panties) she realized.  “Nooope.  All right, what’s up?  Room service, you got towels, what?”

Sam turned the corner, his eyes widened in shock but then narrowed in disbelief, thinking he was the monster that Bobby had.  The two walked into the room, Sam roughly pulling him to the side, out of the woman’s view and cutting him, splashing him, all over again.  Until…

His eyes reflected something so unexplainable, it couldn’t be called anything other than what it was: relief, love and shock.  He instantly engulfed him in his arms and Dean clung to him but he felt this numbness protecting himself from the hurt when Sam whispered, “Oh my God, it _is_ you, I—” there was a quiver in his voice, he couldn’t be pried away, he never wanted this moment to end.

Until the woman, pulling her clothes on asked, “So…are you two, like _together_?”

Something in Sam snapped.    
  
_Much_ too quickly, _without_ his usual chuckle, _without_ the good humor that they played it off with, he got defensive instead.  He instantly retorted, “What?  No.  No.  He’s my brother,” like he was damn offended.

What the hell.  What was going on?

“Okay.  Well, I know I had fun.  See you later,” she winked and took off from the room.

Dean…had this tension in his back.  Those were the least of his worries.

Because, according to Bobby, even though it felt like forty years in Hell, up here?  Time was different.  

It had barely been _four months._  

Sam hadn’t wasted much time finding a new body to warm his bed.  Knowing that, it stung something awful.  How long did he wait?  Was this brand-spankin’-new?  Was this something that had been going on a bit longer?  Did he have rebound after rebound?  Or was this the first time getting his toes (or dick) wet?  
  
At first, seeing the woman had caused all Dean’s thrill, all his joy and anticipation to crash and burn, to turn into fuckin’ heartbreak at the drop of a hat.  But Dean Winchester?  Oh—he _didn’t do_ heartbreak.  No, he transformed hurt into other things.  Anger, frustration, emotions he could deal with: because those were workable.  Now, something else was overwhelming him, because he couldn’t break down.

Instead, jealously was running fiercely through Dean’s veins as they went and he leaned against a separate wall.  One that was further away from Sam, because maybe he was petty.  
  
He didn’t know what Sam felt.  Right now, Dean wasn’t sure what was right and what was wrong.  Dean didn’t know how he should be reacting, he only knew how he felt.  It wasn’t like he’d planned on coming back and had some kind of contingency plan.  
  
Dean didn’t know if they’d fall into each other’s arms right away.  Sure, he kind of expected it.  Or at least he _had_ when he’d thought things over on his journey after being reborn, or whatever.  Except what was happening now...this was a different animal.  The fact that he was alive for the foreseeable future changed _everything_.

After all, the _second_ that Sam found out that Dean had made that deal, the _instant_ they both knew he only had a year to live—Sam had been irate.  He had been a fucking ball of fury, this whirlwind of nearly-cosmic energy that Dean had never witnessed before.  Even though they’d ‘look for a cure’ Sam was a goddamn beacon of rage.  He acted out, he couldn’t be tamed, he actually managed (for the very first time) within this storm to catch Dean off guard.

Up until then, Dean had no idea where all this anger was coming from.  Sure, he could see it as Sam thinking he was an idiot because he sacrificed himself, but he’d anticipated something along the lines of sorrow. The strongest emotion being frustration.  Not all this...hate.  Dean was in the dark as to where that had stemmed from.  Until Sam finally let him in.  
  
That had been a night of revelations, of confessions and something so indescribably heavy that neither Winchester could stay away, ever since.

The week after the contract was revealed with the “one year“ stipulation, when Sam’s vibrating and distraught energy had reached a pinnacle, he’d gotten drunk and his inhibitions fled.  Yeah, Dean was drunk too (it was par for the course), but it was mostly because he’d let his brother down.  He _hated_ that he made Sam feel that way. Except when they headed back to the motel room, damn, did Sam turn the tables.

“I hate this,” Sam growled, pulling another airplane shot of liquor from the mini-fridge.  “I was working up the courage, I have been for _so long._  And…you’ve totally forced my goddamn hand.”  
  
Dean watched on in confusion, half because of Sam’s words, and half because he was surprised the small bottle of liquor hadn't exploded in his grip by now.  
  
“I hate it, because I can’t go another minute without saying it anymore.”  Sam collapsed on the edge of the bed, staring Dean down with fire behind his eyes.  “Do you have _any_ idea what I’m gonna say?  Is there anything that you have to tell me?  Anything?  Do you have something to get off your chest?”

Dean’s breath was shaking because he didn’t know where this was going.  He was being prompted, but his answers could potentially ruin the last twelve months they had together.  So he was trying to figure out what Sam wanted him to say.  He was coming up dry so he kept his mouth zipped.  
  
But Sam like this, all fire and aggression, it was beautiful.  It was so damn sexy—and even though he _shouldn’t_ be having those thoughts, all he could think about was being tackled and letting Sammy have his way with him—

_God, he was so fucked up._

He hadn’t even realized his tongue had swiped across his lower lip until Sam’s gaze followed and his chest began to heave a bit quicker.

“Dean…” Sam looked him right in the eyes, pinning him with his gaze.  There was nowhere for him to escape.  “I told you, you ruined my plans.  The way I was gonna say it, where, when…  I was going to make it easier, but because you’re a dumbass for pulling that shit,” he threw his arms up in the air, not losing a bit of that intensity when he announced, “Here it is!  I’m fucking _in love_ _with you_!”  

Sam watched a shiver go through Dean’s spine as he sprung up from the mattress and stalked him like a predator.  “But that’s not all,” Sam said.  “Always loved you, thought it was wrong.  Once you started showing up in my wet dreams, once I started jerking off thinking about you in the shower…I said fuck it.  I don’t care anymore.  I _want you_.”  With a wry grin Sam shook his head and unforgivingly said, mere inches away, “I can’t help it.  It won’t go away.  And before I could even seduce you, prove to you that we _could_ work…you had to go and sign your life away!”  He grabbed Dean’s chin with a rough grip, tilting it upward and asked, so desperately, “Please.  Just…let me kiss you?”

Dean nodded, quicker than he could have imagined.

Sam’s lips, his tongue, his teeth were ferocious as he pushed Dean back and laid him out across the mattress.  He continued to move, push boundaries until Dean said stop—but that was the thing…

Dean never said stop.    
  
And that not only was the most amazing surprise, it shocked Sam.

When they were laying beside each other, sharing one of the two beds (they’d very soon be getting kings every night) Sam’s swallowed hard and asked with trepidation, “How long?”

“Always loved you.  The rest,” Dean chuckled to himself, “probably when I cornered you at Stanford.  When I saw the man you’d become.  I was so proud of you, Sammy, _so_ damn proud.”  
  
He continued to muse aloud, while running his fingers through Sam’s hair, “And when you came back to hunting and it was only you and me?  No dad?  Fuckin’ hell, did you grow up.  You were smart as a whip, clever, hot, not just my little brother I needed to take care of, you know?  I…couldn’t help it.  I had to hide it, obviously, but being near you...it was enough for me,” he divulged, pressing a kiss to Sam’s forehead.  “So we gonna make the most of this time?”

“And figure out a way to keep you here?  Damn right, we are,” Sam said with conviction, holding him closer.  “I can’t lose you, I _won’t_.”

“Well, we’ve got a year.  Come what may.”

And that was how they got past that hurdle…it was perfect in Dean’s mind, and they’d kept the pace up, just like that.  

Right up until the Hellhound had dragged Dean’s marked soul downstairs, leaving his body shredded on Earth for his brother and lover to bury.  

But up until then, the whole thing was…it _wasn’t_ about sex, giving everything a last hurrah, taking pity on a dying man, no.  That’s not what they had between them, it was _love_.  On such a bone-deep level, it was the thing of soulmates.    
  
That’s why it hurt something awful.  That this, right here and now, hurt something awful.

Because here Sam was, just fucking a random chick when Dean had been out of the game for a mere _four months_?  Wow.  What a damn long time to wait and get back on the horse, huh?  Oh, Dean was bitter.   
  
Plus, that BS spitting out “they’re brothers,” like he couldn’t say it fast enough, basically leaving the door open for more action?  Obviously, Dean couldn’t address this little affair like he wanted to, not with Bobby right here, but he could hardly look Sam in the eyes right now.  He kept his distance because that was safe.

All Dean thought about, crawling out of that grave was Sammy.   _Sammy, Sammy, Sammy._   On repeat, and this is what he found?  Fuck.  It hurt.  Seeing it from an outside perspective, it sure as hell looked like he’d…moved on.  Without so much as a bump in the road.  Maybe they weren’t all Dean thought they were cracked up to be.

Dean didn’t have to ask the question—he knew Sam didn’t make the deal.  So he turned back to Bobby and asked, “Think we can get a link from this damn brand on my arm and see if it’ll trace back to the monster that grabbed me?”

“Pamela,” Bobby suddenly thought.  “Best damn psychic in the area, she’ll know how to conjure it up, speak with it.  We can head back to Sioux Falls.  Sam, pack up.  Let’s get moving.”

Yet, Sam was narrowing his eyes and questioned, “You’ve been _branded_?” which almost made Dean laugh aloud.    
  
After all, that was one of Sam’s favorite pastimes.  Covering him from head to toe with _his_ mark.  Whether it was his teeth, hickies, bruises around his wrists, anything that proved that Dean was his.  And you know what?  Dean always loved it, too.

Well, guess what?  Sam just bent over some random chick in a sleazy motel room to pass the time, because that’s who he was these days or whatever.  So in a petty move, Dean proudly made a show of the mark, and how goddamn massive it was.  

A true claim, someone’s hand grabbing Dean— burned into his flesh and announcing Dean as theirs.  Something that Sam would not, in a million years, be able to replicate himself.  Just to push buttons, Dean grumbled, “God knows how the hell we’d get this off.  May be stuck with it for my new life.”  
  
And just for a second, he could see that fire behind his eyes.  The one that he’d missed.

But unless they started talking?  This _wasn’t_ working.

He covered the mark back up, Sam’s nostrils still flared and Dean pointedly stated, “Yeah, let’s get on this.  Sam, clean up from your sexcapades, we’ve got shit to do.”

That, right there, looked like it stabbed him.  And it damn well should have.  Because what the actual fuck?

\---------------------------

After they drove back, even Bobby made mention of how awkward the car ride was, and Dean blamed it on, “Hey, you try being resurrected!  It’s exhausting, I’m gonna need to crash after this séance or whatever.”

He spoke too soon.  Because, oh God, the _actual_ séance?  It was a shit show.  Dean honestly wished that it had never happened.  That they never risked it, that they’d tried another way because this thing, its sheer strength merely from _speaking_ to it (which happened to be momentary because of the horrible circumstances), it had burned poor Pamela’s eyes out.  God, Dean wished it had gone a differently, especially for Bobby’s friend, an innocent comrade doing them a favor.  It was another weight to add to their shoulders.  
  
They did get a name—Castiel.  And names: they held power.  They were one step closer to figuring out what happened, _so_ freaking _close_ because this mystery (hell, _all_ the mysteries when he’d been gone) were beginning to itch under his skin.

Normally, this would be the part where Dean would dive in, head-first into some greasy diner food.  Sam offered, but he declined.  He wasn’t feeling himself.  Not by a long shot.

These…emotions.  This was the prime fucking reason that he didn’t do relationships, because when they didn’t work out?  All you were left with was solitude, unanswered questions, ‘what-if’s’ and heartbreak.  This was straight-up depression.  Fuck this.

He didn’t want to question Sam—he should let him live his life.  Hell, Dean would've (should have, he supposed) encouraged it _,_ never imagining he‘d come back from the dead because he wasn‘t supposed to.  The demons made sure that was underlined in the damn contract.  But...that was later.  Sam was supposed to mourn first, _then_ find a way back to a normal life and meet a pretty girl.

It looked like Sam had done his time mourning, and he was doing a pretty damn good job of moving on, as it was.  He should…keep it up, Dean supposed.  Why should _he_ infringe, right?

After Dean took a snooze, they would summon this fucker tonight. He wasn’t sure if he could actually sleep though…the visions of Hell being so recent.  God, it was horrible.  It was a nightmare even when he was awake, the worst things you could imagine and—

There was a light knock at his door and he saw Sam just beyond the slightly ajar doorway.  Great.  Exactly what he fucking needed right now.

“Yeah?” he asked gruffly, rolling over to his side.  “What up?”

Sam all but ran over to the chair by the desk, excitedly taking in each and every one of Dean’s features and smiling a mile wide when he said, “I just…can’t believe it’s really you!  I was nervous at first, thought I was dreaming, but I _wasn’t_!  I’m not…you’re really, _really_ here!  Do you have any idea—!”

“Yeah, I do.  I like being alive much more than burning in Hell,” Dean flashed a smirk before Sam’s happy puppy face could break his resolve.  “Looks like you’ve been living it up since I’ve been gone, huh?”

Obviously not expecting that accusation, Sam froze in his place.  “It w-wasn’t like that.  I promise, it—”

“No.  I get it.  It’s fine,” Dean went as far as to reach out and grab Sam’s knee.  “You deserve to be happy.  I was dead, we never found that loophole, you know?  God knows how this _Castiel_ did.  Sure as hell gonna ask him tonight.  But…don’t worry about explaining, you needed to keep going or else you’d freak and make some horrible choices.  I know you, Sam.  Just…keep up what you’re doing.”

Sam’s voice was just shy of a whisper when he said, “What I want…what I _choose_ is you.”

“Nah,” Dean slapped his hand down on Sam’s thigh before he retracted it.  “Saw that hottie brunette.  You’ve got people throwing themselves at you all the time.  I’m damaged goods, kid.  Just trust me on this one.”

It looked like Sam wasn’t taking no for an answer.  With his features set, he sprung up from the chair then maneuvered around so he was pinning Dean to the bed.  “Are you saying you don’t want me anymore?”  His words were nervous, and it was odd, because Sam was usually all bravado and sexual energy.  But right now, he was almost begging Dean to come back to him.

“I’m sayin’,” Dean tried to maintain eye contact, but it was…fuckin’ brutal.  Sam’s attention, that is.  “I already know you’ve moved on.  Don’t be with me out of pity.  Jesus, Sammy!  Why is that so hard to understand?!”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he growled and descended on Dean’s neck, sucking and nipping roughly, trying to get a rise out of him.  Trying to force his hand and tip him over the edge. _Needing_ Dean to fight back.

But Dean knew how to pick his battles, and this wasn’t happening.  Sam just…he wasn’t acting himself.  Something was _off_ , and he was forcing the image of what he thought he should be.  

But the thing is?  Even if Sam was pretending to be who Dean knew, Dean saw _his Sammy_ when he died.  All their last moments, even if the last one was a nightmare, Dean clung to for solace.   _This_ Sammy, upon being resurrected, _wasn’t_ it.  He had a different view of it, and there was something he wasn’t saying.

“You’re working too hard,” Dean pushed him away, even though it hurt.  He had to, because although he felt like Sam was sincere enough, things about him had changed.  Things at his _core_.  That...meant something.

Sam fell back, looking dejected and frustrated at the same time.  “You don’t want me anymore?”

Sitting up and leaning against the headboard, Dean frowned and sighed, “‘Course I do.  I died loving you, nothing’s changed.  But I’m not gonna lie to myself and pretend that you’re the same as I remember you, I’m probably not the same as you remember me.  I want to hear what’s happened.  I wanna…I don’t know, I need us to be on the same page because,” he drew in a huge breath, “because I know you.  Inside and out.  And that change I mentioned is real.  And it might be as easy as you mourning me, and puttin' me in your rearview.”

Crestfallen and hurt by his words, Sam appeared smaller, younger, defenseless because of the accusation.  All he could offer was, “I thought about you every single day.  I never stopped looking for answers.  I love you.  I don’t know what you think is ‘off’ but I hope you get over it.”  The last part was a scoff as he pushed off the bed and stood up.  “This is kind of a shitty reunion.”

“Well, you know me,” Dean pointed out without a lick of hesitation, “Came back from the dead.  All I thought about was you, only to find you and a half-naked chick doing the walk of shame?  Kind of a buzz kill, considering how hard I fought to stay with you.”

Sam stared openly, his mouth slightly open and shook his head, “It’s really, _really_ not like that, I—”

“I told you.  Want you to be happy.  And if you’ve got a new hobby or girl?  Who am I to stand in the way?  Now, let me get some shut-eye before summoning this SOB.”

Sam looked wrecked as he sighed and left the room, shutting the door, but Dean was left stewing in even more confusion them before.  Because, really.  How the hell ‘wasn’t it like that?’  What kind of reality existed where it wasn’t?  If there was anything he hated, it was being lied to.  Lying was the quickest way to drive Dean Winchester away, and Sam knew this.

Was that Sam’s goal?  God, Dean hoped not.  He wanted this to work out, he really did.  But so many things needed to come together, to change, before they could go back to where they were.


	2. Behind Closed Doors

Fuck, Sam’s heart was heavy and it manifested itself physically, into his slumped shoulders and his heavy footsteps.  He was checking out this diner on a whim, only to find a slew of humans (not even demons) with their eyes burned out.  It was eerily similar to Pamela, and Sam wondered if he was onto something here.    
  
One woman who was crumpled like a broken doll on the floor, was spewing that this was the end, that they were all going to die.  This couldn’t all be ‘Castiel,’ he had saved Dean, yet the corpses told a different story.  
  
A familiar tingle, like a sixth sense, sparked Sam’s muscle memory to life, and he spun around.  He barely even flexed his muscles, exorcising a demon who was suddenly coming at him, maybe to investigate.  When the meatsuit fell back, the black smoke of his being fizzling into nothingness, he went down hard.

Just another dropped body in the mystery of the dead lying in the diner.

Sam rolled his shoulders and took a moment to himself, sitting at one of the booths without a corpse.  Sam ran a hand through his hair and dismissed the carnage, too desensitized to it all.  Everything had been a whirlwind of emotions the moment he laid eyes on Dean, and he felt drained.  
  
Shock, suspicion, revelation, unconditional love and happiness that took a turn for confusion.   _Then_ there was doubt.  Nerves crept up, yet determination overpowered them, because Sam wouldn’t let Dean get away from him, not when he just got him back!  

Sam heard the click of heels, the all too familiar saunter, and he internally groaned.    
  
It was all because of the stunts _she_ pulled; it was the reason Dean didn’t trust him anymore.  Of course, it _was_ quick thinking to get her out of the motel room, making it appear like a hook-up turned awkward, then making a break for it.  Still, she didn’t take into consideration what Dean and Sam had.  
  
Sam never anticipated his brother was behind that door, but if she had looked through the peephole and still used that tactic?  He...didn’t know what he thought.  Maybe it was spur of the moment, maybe there was no blame.  Maybe it was all destined to go to shit, just like that.

“Look at you,” Ruby smiled, sliding into the booth across from him.  “Everything’s comin’ up roses, isn’t it?  And _wow_!  You got your brother back!”

“Only half of him,” Sam frowned, tugging at his hair.  “He thinks…I don’t know what he thinks.  I can’t exactly tell him about our, uh, system.  Not yet at least.  So I don’t know whether to let him keep believing we were…you know.  Or—” he hissed out a curse, “I don’t know what the other option is!”

Ruby tilted her head and watched him with her own version of concern.  “What’s going on, Sammy?”

“When he came back.  All he wanted was to find me.  To…get back to _us_.  And, well, you saw what he found—he found you.  Like _that_.  He thinks I’m different, that I moved on and—” his voice trembled, “I’m afraid.  I need him, I love him.  But he’s not going to be happy with what happened while he was dead.”  Sam’s eyes flashed up to Ruby.  “What the fuck do I do?”

“Everything you’ve done?  Everything you’ve achieved?  It’s for the greater good.  You’ve been saving people’s lives.  Instead of a blade, one that always kills, you’re letting the vessels _live_.  How can anyone argue with that?”  She leaned back in the booth, slinging her arm over the top, retracting with annoyance in her eyes when she saw it was covered in blood.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, “I know.  I believe in that too but…how do I win him back?”

“Oh,” Ruby formed an ‘o’ with her lips before she sucked one into her mouth and chewed on it.  “Shit.  Got no idea on that one, kiddo.  Not only is the whole ‘Back from Hell’ thing terrifying, but your relationship?  A little…unorthodox.  I don’t give a fuck one way or another,” she winked.  “But if I were in your shoes?  From what I know about Dean and what I saw of you two?”

Sam leaned in, all ears.  “Yeah?”

“You two were just…fiery chemistry.  Instant gratification.  You needed to be since he was on a countdown.  But these days, you’ve got all the time in the world.”  A simply wicked smile quirked on her face, “Tease him.  You know he loves you.  You know he wants you.  And if he pushed you aside, show him what he’s missing.  Shouldn’t be too hard.  He’ll crack, I know it.”

He considered it, long and hard before he nodded, “That’s…actually a good idea.  I could pull some old stunts “out of habit.”  Push some boundaries.  I doubt that’d be a problem anyway.  Thanks, Ruby.”

She smiled and reached across the table with a hearty pat on his back, “Gotcha, kiddo.”

\------------------------------

Dean and Bobby couldn’t wait anymore, who knew if Sam was at a diner, hooking up with some other girl or what.  Dean was in this passive-aggressive mode, still confused as to whether he knew his brother anymore or not.  Okay, that was an over exaggeration.  He _knew_ it was Sam; it was all the questions surrounding him that Dean needed to dig into.  They needed a break to chat through all of them.  Right now was not the time.

Right now was about the job.  He needed to get back into the swing of things.  Hunting was supposed to be his life; it was before Sam and it continued to be when he was with Sam.  Right now?  This was a monster of epic proportions and Dean needed his head in the game.  Bobby was right along side him, and it was urgent, figuring out where the fuck his brand came from, and how Pamela’s eyes were burnt out.

This was the present, it was so damn important, and the build of anticipation was nearly nonexistent.    
  
The summoning ritual was followed by gusts of wind, the barn doors shaking and…a man walking in—bulbs and electric currents exploding with each step closer.  And, _shit_ , Dean had to admit, if this was the dude who’d called dibs?  Well, he was pretty easy on the eyes.

Although he was obligated to stab him in the chest, unfortunately.  This ‘Castiel’ looked at Dean and his demon-killing blade with nothing more than amusement, and tapped Bobby’s forehead ( _after_ being pumped full of rock salt from his gun) and he collapsed.  Dean’s heart was racing.  He could feel the power but he had to remember this was the person (thing) that brought him back!  
  
He needed to stay strong, show no fear and remind himself that there was some reason he was on Earth.  And Castiel held the answer.  
  
And this close, _damn_ , those eyes were blue.  What the fuck _was_ this thing?

The creature nonchalantly pulled the blade from where it was buried in his ribs and offered it back.  Dean, who found his voice and roughly demanded, “What are you?!”  
  
They hadn’t run into anything like this, some creature that hadn’t even flinched when a knife was plunged into its heart, let alone the ace up their sleeve that was Ruby’s blade.  Yet this man just glided through the barn, past the warding and sigils, sending sparks flying like he was in a damn music video or something!  This proved so far he was untouchable.

“My name is Castiel.”  And, all right, Dean (completely lashing out because of his jealousy surrounding Sam, because he was _fucking hurt_ , okay?!) found that low rumble to be quite sexy.  “I’m an Angel of the Lord.”  Okay.   _No longer sexy._

“What?” Dean’s brows scrunched up, he _couldn’t_ have understood him, this was insane and bullshit, and—

“I saved you from Hell on God’s command.  My Garrison was sent down on the mission, we lost many angels on the way.”  Castiel was like a robot, repeating the information like he was reading it off a teleprompter.  “God has work for you to do.”

If that right there wasn’t the biggest load of bullshit Dean had ever heard…and just like that.  The “angel” was gone, and Bobby was stirring.  Dean would give it to him, Castiel knew how to make an entrance and an exit, but that was all he would give the lying sonuvabitch.  
  
This wasn’t okay.    
  
So far, his life had been a mess.  For starters, Dean felt completely uprooted, with none of his constants even reliable since his resurrection.  And now he had to entertain the concept of angels?  Of _God_?  

He only wished that a certain someone was by his side again and they could hit the ‘rewind’ button.  All Dean wanted was to go back to his last year on Earth.  It was honestly the best year he’d had.  He’d lived and loved out loud, with no regrets, checking off all the bucket list items with a light heart and someone who felt as deeply for Dean as he did for them.  Dean wanted to go back inside that little snow-globe they’d created and stay right there.  
  
These days, he didn’t know if Sam would even want to escape into the past with him.  Still, with these new life-changing developments?  Dean he needed him, _now_.

\----------------------------

The morning began in a heated debate (okay, it was a _fight_ , you happy?) about the existence of angels.  It was an aggressive, hot topic.  Because to Dean—if angels were really truly a thing—that meant God was real.  And as Castiel explained, he was indebted and “had work for him.”  So why the hell should he help?  Considering that this God, never in his life or any history book, had been kind and benevolent enough to do a goddamn thing!  Or to help humanity in any friggin way!

The worst part about all this was that even though the angel had come to Dean, he was still the non-believer.  He was the one who didn’t give a shit and downright refused whatever ‘plan’ God had for him.  He’d wouldn’t give Castiel a chance until he turned water into wine, or better yet, whiskey.    
  
And where Dean didn’t believe that “angel” as far as he could throw him?   _Both_ Bobby and friggin Sam were Team Halo!  What the actual fuck?!

Bobby was digging into the lore, which ended up being volumes upon volumes of tomes highlighting the existence of angels.  Sam, on the other hand, began as a straight-up believer.  Then, when he knew that simple belief method wouldn’t work on Dean, he jumped on the ‘literary proof’ bandwagon.  Which left Dean high and dry.  Again.

Fuckin-A, this sucked.

The next day, after something called the “Rising of the Witnesses” struck a chord in all of them, things turned around.  And fast.  With his morning coffee after that debacle, Dean asked his brother if he thought the devil was real.

That question lingered from Dean’s dream the night before, when Castiel had visited him.  He didn’t have the best news to deliver and now Dean was on edge.  Anyone would be, if they were told about the 66 Seals, which, if broken, would lead to Lucifer walking the Earth.    
  
And, oh boy, Dean let Cas have it.  He refused to let this angel walk all over him, because Dean _wasn’t_ the one God should’ve chosen.  And he’d decided to prove that, right then and there.  Dean rarely dreams and when he did?  He learned to control them, and this scene and refused to let go.    
  
While he allowed Castiel to drone on, he approached with step after step, closing in on the angel.

Castiel didn’t notice, not even remotely, which _had_ to be an angel thing because when he ended his spiel and normally would have disappeared, Dean lashed out and grabbed his shoulder.

With his eyes narrowed, Dean demanded, “Why me?  Those ten commandants of yours?  All the passages in the Bible?  Even if I hadn’t signed over my soul, it’s a straight ticket—”

“Dean,” Cas tried evenly, “I don’t give the orders, I only pass them down, and you—”

“I’m a murderer, a liar, a thief, an alcoholic, I’m in love with my brother and I used to fuck him.  Now I get jealous even _thinking_ about him being with anyone else.  That’s envy, right?  Leads to rage.  I’m all the seven deadly sins rolled into one!” he announced with an almost manic laugh.  
  
Dean gave him a good shake, making sure he had the angel’s attention when he drawled out, “You?  First time I saw you I thought, yeah, you could be fun for a one night stand, if Sam and I were done.”  He fisted the fabric of Castiel’s trench coat and actually made the angel look nervous.  “How about it?  If we’re finished, what about you and me?  You can visit my dreams more, no one will know…”

Finally, the angel jerked away in a huff and explained, “Love is love.  You’re taking out your frustrations on me.  Souls are reborn when they have unfinished business instead of going to Heaven, and it’s truly unfortunate that you two were reincarnated into this situation.  It’s true, Dean.  And our Father understands it’s about the _souls_ , not the body you were born into.”

“Wait.”  That was something that actually shocked Dean as he slowly pronounced, “You can tell.  When it’s real.”

Castiel slowly nodded.  “It’s written on the soul.  An imprint is marked on both.  Although the circumstances may be difficult because of society, the higher powers, they know the truth.  And it’s not a sin to our Father.”

“Huh.  Thanks, Cas.”  Just because Dean was simply thrilled to see the angel flustered and embarrassed when he got up in his space, he took another step forward and began innocently, “When I work things out with Sam,” and grabbed his tie, hauling him in close enough to brush their nose together, “Maybe you could join us.”

That was when he woke up with a grin on his face.  But…it wasn’t a no, right?  God, he loved teasing that guy, just because of the reactions he’d get from him.  They were golden.  Something so innocent was something so rare today.    
  
Dean was numb to the world, and he had been since before Hell even dug its nails in.  Cas was a clip from a time that didn’t exist these days, from a world that was too far gone to harbor that kind of purity.  He almost hoped the angel wasn’t ruined completely during all this shit.

Maybe that was how he ended up spending more and more time with Castiel, even more than his brother.  Maybe Dean wanted to be close to something _untarnished_ to make himself feel less...dirty.  Either way, they had a unique friendship that bloomed and it was nice.  It was strange, too, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.  Mostly, because Sam would just up and disappear and Dean wouldn’t be that overprotective asshole and trace his phone.

It fucking stung though.  All signs pointed to Sam moving on.  
  
\-----------------------------

One afternoon, in the midst of all this angst and frustration, there was something the angel wanted to show Dean.  But before he did so, Castiel actually recognized a human emotion, which was kind of a massive step for him, considering the lack of feeling most angels had.

He considered Dean with a squint and stated, “You’re troubled.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged and sighed, “I want…well, ever since we talked about _it_.  I wanna make things better with Sam.  I've been avoiding it.  I know there are secrets standing in the way.  But do I just ignore them?  Work through them?  Or…give up?”

A hint, the barest hint was on Cas’ face when he said, “I believe this will help you,” and pressed two fingers on his forehead.

And that, right there, was his first experience with time travel.  Meeting his parents when they were just kids?  God, seeing the yellow-eyed demon again made his blood boil, made his palm clench for the Colt.  Yet...there was this huge moment of clarity that nearly explained everything.  Their mom and dad...well, _Mary_ and the deal she made—it made the lightbulb flash on.  And then everything, fucking everything, made sense.  The very reason that Sam had been skittish, the reason he was almost afraid to fuck things up between them...  
  
Dean wanted to double over and lose his lunch.  A horrible mix of understanding, of frustration, of heartbreak for his family, all of it, it swirled through his entire being and he had to steady himself.  It was almost too much.  Because while the physic crap had been a thing of the past, it _didn’t_ come out of the blue.

As an infant, Sammy had been poisoned, the demon bleeding into his mouth and infecting him.  Like a booster shot of something horrible, dark and evil.  It hurt, God, it fucking stabbed Dean right in the stomach because Sam had been going through this, walking this line, and Dean _should_ have been there!  He should have protected his little brother!  Fuck—he felt a sick feeling consume him, then a bright light exploded and he was back to the current day, but his mind was still set in the past.  He loathed the fact Sam had been working in the shadows, battling the darkness _alone_ and he all but collapsed in Cas’ arms.    
  
The angel didn’t know what to do, and awkwardly, mechanically brought his arms up to pat Dean’s back.  This was something he clearly hadn’t predicted and was trying to replicate the human protocol in these situations.

Dean asked gruffly, “Where’s Sam?” pulling away from the angel.

“425 Waterman.  You brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads.  So stop it.  Or we will.”  He didn’t say it as a threat, he emphasized it as though it was _Heaven’s_ plan for them, but _Cas_ wished them the best.  
  
Dean nodded his thanks, clapping the angel on the back and and trying to shake off the lingering self-doubt.  He could do this, he could save his brother.  Even if they were at odds, even if parts of them were broken—there was still one thing Dean could do.  One thing he had always done, that he was damn good at.  
  
Dean was a big brother, and he promised that he’d always take care of Sammy.

He couldn’t jump in the Impala quickly enough.

\------------------------------------------

When Dean arrived at the address, he watched the entire scene from the wings, cloaked in the darkness as silent as a shadow.  He didn’t make his presence known for two reasons.

One—what he saw was so _baffling_ , it had caused a hiccup in his steps.  He had to rethink his entire plan.  Calling it a hiccup?  That was being generous, it was more like he completely froze up in shock.  Dean doubled back, finding a corner with a bird’s eye view to watch everything, instead of charging in, guns blazing.

Two—he needed to take this in.  All of it.  From start to finish.  Because from day fucking one back from the dead, that instinct?  That weird, couldn’t-put-his-finger-on-it thing about Sam that had changed?  Oh, this was it.  
  
He knew Sammy inside out.  It probably had terrified him that Dean had even gone as far as to call him out on that weird vibe he was getting when Sam cornered him at Bobby’s for their private reunion.  That had driven a wedge between them, and instead of explaining it was nothing—this was the proof that it _was_ something.  And that something was friggin _huge_.  He knew Dean would pick up on that lie so he had nothing to do but retreat.  
  
They couldn’t be together if they couldn’t trust each other, no matter how much love they had.  Dean’s heart ached for Sam, but this...what he was watching...it was unbelievable.  It all crashed down, a reflection from his visit to the past, but he never expected it to go this far into his present: his future.

There was so much happening at once, Dean didn’t even know which way he should be looking or where to focus his attention.  Sam had a demon strung up with invisible restraints, he was demanding answers about Lilith, where she was hiding, and there was this… _rage_ inside him.    
  
This raw, pure bloodlust that he’d never witnessed in his little brother.

It was savage and untamed, and he seemed to be manipulating the demon with the twist of his hand with ease.  Though this practiced and perfected energy, probably like the old psychic powers he had.  Except Sam had refined into something more sinister.  
  
Dean could barely breathe.  He’d witnessed Sam’s anger, his need for revenge, and even following through with personal vendettas that sparked a more focused wrath.  But this?  It was feral, unfiltered wickedness.

Just then, something that made Dean’s own heart beat even faster was recognizing the woman standing alongside him.  Because…he couldn’t justify her presence, he couldn’t piece together _why_ in his confusion.  It was the bitch who was at the motel room with Sam!    
  
  
  
Yeah, the very same half-naked, “Welcome Home, Dean!” surprise that had been waiting for him.  So was this a hunter?  A fucking _girlfriend_?  This mystery continued to become more and more tangled and he was damn sure all of these links (once connected) were the events that had changed Sam.

And despite all of it,  Dean would still love him if he came clean.  Lying and trying to pretend to be someone he wasn’t and handling Dean with kid gloves?  “Sheltering and protecting him from this”...whatever it was—fuck that!  Dean had done so much worse, and even though Sam was battling with his own evil, why wouldn’t he let him help?  That’s all Dean wanted to do.

The shrill screams and shouts for mercy were ear-piercing.  Then, the cowardice and begging began, as most demons turned to as a last ditch effort.

Sam didn’t care, and looked almost casual.  With a wave of his arm, he sent the demon packing back to hell, and the host (who was actually still alive) looking around in confusion.

Dean took that as his cue, his grand entrance.  He marched up, demanding, “What the hell is going on?” then gestures to the brunette with narrowed eyes, “So this really _is_ a thing?  Shacking up with another hunter?”

With complete terror at being seen, Sam’s body locked up.  This was clearly a scenario out of his worst nightmares, one he hadn’t been prepared for, and he sputtered out, “I-I was exorcising the host, so the person inside could live.  Saving people, Dean!  I’ve learned how to save so many people, and that’s Ruby!”

A hot rush of anger at that now-revealed _demon_ bitch overwhelmed him, and Dean reached for her special knife for some poetry in motion.  Sam leaped in the way, to _protect her_ , and shouted back, “Get him to the hospital!”

Even though the previously possessed was a decent sized dude, demon strength trumps all, for man-handling and helping a half-conscious human.  She lugged the befuddled, stunned man away before Dean could even take the shot he wanted.  Because Sam was using his body as a human shield.

Maybe that was it.  What Cas needed him to witness.  Why Sam was so hard to get a hold of these days, why their relationship was slowly falling apart.  Because he’d been playing ‘house’ or ‘superhero vigilante’ with the black-eyed bitch.  Dean felt defeated.  He sighed and turned on his heels without so much as another word.  It was just…

There were so many chances.  Sam had too many chances to tell him.  And if he’d spilled the truth, they could’ve worked together, they could’ve helped each other, they could…God.  

The thing that sucked the most?  Is that, right now, all this shit that Cas had put on his shoulders, Dean needed Sam just as much.

He all but flew back to the motel in Baby (since flying with an angel was actually a thing now) to pack up his bags.  Dean knew damn well that Sam had been tailing him, on his ass with a stolen car the entire time.  Which begged the question—what did he think was going to happen?  What could he even say to begin and make this right?

Dean slammed the motel door if only to make a statement, and began jamming things in his duffle bag.  Sam’s key card lit up the door in his peripheral, and he was right behind him, breathless.    
  
While Dean could hear his heaving chest, he _wouldn’t_ look.  Or he knew damn well he would punch Sam.  And…he _couldn’t_.  He refused to get into a physical fight over this.  It just wasn’t worth it; he had all but given up by now.  Apparently, four months underground was enough time for someone ( _your_ someone) to destroy who they were when you were together.  To fade into ash, then rise into this creature-like phoenix that you wanted to love more than anything...but they wouldn’t let you.  They’d forgotten that bond, that amazing thing you had, and...goddammit, didn't seem to want it back.  Being replaced...holy shit, it hurt.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was scared, _so_ damn scared.  “Just hear me out—”

“Oh, I hear you, loud and clear,” he interrupted and continued.  “You’re saving people.  I get that, I do.  But your powers?  They’re not comin’ from a good place, Sam.  And if I didn’t,” he choked on the next words, ”if I didn’t love you so much, I’d say that saving people is a win, but the fact is, the angels?  They told me I-I had to stop you.  Or they will.”

Dean finally turned around, feeling so exhausted, physically and mentally to see Sam looking hopeful for the first time and forever.  “No angel is touching you.  So please.   _Please_ stop.”

It was spur of the moment, but Sam rushed into his space, cupping Dean’s cheeks and kissing him tenderly.  No matter how worn-out he was, the kiss was something he didn’t know he needed so badly.  Maybe, now that the secrets between them were out in the open (willingly or not), they could begin to mend their shredded relationship?  Because it felt right when Dean wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist…

Until it didn’t.

Dean had to put some distance them, he pulled away just enough to press their foreheads together.  He needed to know, it was tearing him apart and ripping him down when he asked Sam, “So Ruby.  She my replacement?”

“Oh, God, no!” Sam sounded appalled, and then added (while stroking his thumbs along Dean’s cheekbones), “First, no one was, or could ever be your replacement.  Two, she’s a friend and only pulled that stunt to scare away room service and make her exit.  If I had known it was you—”

Dean nodded slowly and moved away.  “Good.  I think, maybe…we can do this.  But you’ve gotta promise me one thing, Sammy?” his smile was forced.

With his phone vibrating, Sam completely ignored it for his brother’s question.  “Anything.  I want us to be better.  I want what we had back.  So fucking bad.”

That was good news, that was the kind of answer Dean had been _praying_ for, and now his smile transformed into something genuine.  “No secrets.  If I’d have known about this from day one?  We would’ve already worked through it, been past it.  Hell, maybe we’d be where we wanna be.  But we can’t let dumb shit get between us.  Okay?”

“Yeah.”  Sam adamantly nodded, then shyly asked, “Can I kiss you again?”

Dean rolled his eyes fondly but agreed, grabbing the front of Sam’s shirt with his fist and hauling him in for a deeper, more passionate kiss.  They licked into each other’s mouths, small moans escaping parted lips, until…Sam’s phone began vibrating again.

“Dammit, it’s Bobby,” he cursed, and pulled it out.  With a raised eyebrow, he asked Dean, “Ruguru hunt?”

“Heh, got the location?”  When Dean got the nod, he flashed a grin and announced, “Let’s hit it.”  

Because good old fashioned monster hunts?  So much better than this angel and seals bullshit these days.  And he was back with his brother.  Kind of.  During the hunt, Sam even came to the conclusion on his own that using his powers was playing with fire, and he needed to stop.  Damn, was Dean proud of him.

It wasn’t because he was listening to his brother’s advice or to the threats of the angels: Sammy had made this choice all by himself.  He’d weighed the good and the bad and realized at the end of the day, this could be dangerous.  No matter how many people it saved, what if he couldn't save himself?  Especially, during these times of chaos.

Except…there was a little hitch in the road, when it came to that promise.

On Halloween, when Samhain rose?

Dean tried to justify it was the only way they’d be able to defeat him, but the more he recollected, the more ideas popped into his head—

Sam used his powers.  Again.  To banish the demon of Halloween for good.

And even though they defeated him?  The seal was still broken.

Everything was broken, once more.  Just when he thought they were making strides in the right direction, it was two steps back.

Hell, Dean poured his goddamn heart out to Castiel on a park bench about not knowing what to do, where to go from here.  That…maybe Sam was in fight or flight?  Maybe he wasn’t even listening anymore?  What the hell was Dean supposed to do?

And Cas, fuckin’ God bless the little shit, he listened.    
  
He listened to every word and explained, “Sam is trying.  For you.  I believe it was adrenaline, as you put it.  You’re doing well, Dean you have so much heart.  As does Sam.  You need to give him a reason, some kind of purpose not to use his power.  I know he’s fighting against it, even though Uriel doesn’t seem to care.  I do.  I believe the pair of you are strong.  Give him something to fight for.”

And just like that, the angel was gone.  But his words lingered, and they were enough to motivate Dean into acting, into doing something, because whatever was happening now, it wasn’t enough.  He _needed_ to be enough, and he was damn well going to try.

\-----------------------------------

Although Castiel had been annoying at the beginning, Dean was really starting to like him.  He stuck around to listen to his bitching more, he gave sound advice, and at the end of the day (for an angel) he really cared…  It was strange, because Uriel was a flat out dick.  As he was under the impression most angels were.

After a few drinks at the bar, for a hint of liquid courage, Dean sauntered back to the motel room, he had no idea what the hell kind of shape he’d find his brother in.  He'd been admonished, by angel and human alike, even though it was because of him the town hadn’t been totaled.  That fact Samhain had risen and gone on a rampage meant another seal was broken.

When Dean entered, Sam was staring off into black space, cell phone in hand.

He’d probably been texting, waiting for a reply, rinse and repeat.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, pulling off his leather jacket and hanging it up.  “How you doing?”

“Not as good as you,” he snorted, and sniffed the air.  “Straight up whiskey, huh?  Didn’t think to invite me out?”

“It was a quick pit stop.  Wanted to get back here as soon as I could,” he admitted with a shrug and went as far as to sit next to him on his bed, both their backs against the headboard.  “Whatcha up to?”

Sam turned and looked at him quizzically, and answered the question with a question, “You’re not pissed off at me?  I didn’t think you’d even want to be in the same room as me.  Kinda thought you‘d get another…”

“Hey,” Dean took his hand firmly and forced his attention, so they were staring eye to eye.  “It was a crazy situation.  We were running out of fuel, weapons, outta ideas.  You had one thing in your tool box that could save us.  Save the kids.  Save the town.  Obviously, it would’ve been better, had we been more prepared, but we weren’t.  In the end, I think livin’ to see another day beats everything, doesn’t it?”  He raised their hands and kissed Sam’s knuckles.

“Thank you.”  Sam’s eyes were bright and so full of gratefulness.  “I’ve been…sick to my stomach.  Thinking about how you’d take it, thinking about—” he scoffed and slumped against the tacky wood decor.  “Just when I thought we were getting better, when we were building the foundation, ya know?”

“We’ve always had the foundation.  That‘s never gonna change,” Dean promised.  “It’s the other stuff we’re working on.  Rest’a the house.”

“Really?”  Sam asked, filled with the prospect of hope.

“Yeah.”  Dean nodded and admitted, “Ain’t no way I’m fallin’ out of love with you.  It’s not possible, trust me.  But don’t be a little shit and push boundaries.”

“Same,” he announced with a wide grin.  “I mean, with the love thing.  Not the boundaries, but you’re usually the one who pulls that crap, so…yeah.”

God, if that wasn’t the perfect opening…

Dean smirked something mischievous when he asked, “In the past, _this_ would’ve been prime boundary-pushing material.  Just saying…”

Merely a half-second of surprise transformed into an equally bold, “Like when we’d get back from a hunt, strung out on adrenaline and fuck like animals.  There was that one time the bed broke…”

Laughing at the memory, Dean recollected, “Or the time we tried to finagle a good position in that tiny shower stall for _forever_ , and the water turned cold before we could even get washed up or cum.”

With a grin, Sam focused all his attention on Dean, voice dropping to something enticing when he pronounced, “Or that time you came back from the dead, playing hard to get.  All the while I’ve been having nothing but dreams about you.  You're constantly on my mind, the only thing I want…It's given me lots of time to imagine all the things I wanna do to you...”

Dean’s breath hitched in his chest from the sheer seduction in Sam’s heated gaze, because it read as lust, through and through.  But…he kind of had to respond, right?  “Yeah, there was that time I was resurrected from Hell and had you on the brain.  Still do.  One’a the reasons I had a few drinks tonight—”

It was Sam who pulled the whole charade to a dead halt, and he moved with that grace, speed and strength that Dean was constantly in awe of.  Sam darted to the foot of the bed, grabbed his brother by the ankles and hauled him downward until he was flat on his back with only minor flailing involved.  From there, with a devious smile, he took advantage of the position; untying his boots, tugging off his socks and making quick work of his jeans.

Sam figured if Dean had a problem?  He’d voice it.

Just in case, as he crawled up the length of Dean’s body, now clad in boxers, and that flannel and t-shirt he wanted to rip from his body so badly, Sam ducked in to whisper, “Is this okay?  Please tell me it’s—”

He was interrupted by one hand fisting the hair at the base of his neck, and the other cradling his cheek as their mouths met in a fierce and hungry kiss.  Dean didn’t hide his enthusiasm as their tongues brushed, teeth clashed and he moaned into Sam’s mouth.  It was a long time coming, and even though things weren’t perfect?  To be totally honest—for sex, they didn’t have to be.  They could continue working on them while this happened: it was just a fact.  They’d done it before, during arguments when they’d been at odds, using their bodies to take out their aggression on one another.  If anything, anger sex was a damn good way to fix a problem.

Sam gasped as Dean wrenched his head to the side and sucked a massive bruise into his flesh, the sensation sending a jolt down to his already rock-hard cock.  Oh, Dean knew his turn-ons, and it followed with two more, teeth indentations and another obvious raised patch of black and blue.

It was almost a challenge for Sam to get busy and mark him, since it was his own obsession, claiming Dean always drove him crazy and seeing him marked afterwards was a point of pride.

But that required less clothes.

Sam fell back to his haunches, yanking off his layers as he watched Dean scramble to do the same.  As Sam pulled off his jeans, he also went to his duffle bag which Dean found very, very curious and…he returned with lube?

With a brow raised, Dean asked, “Is that—”

“What?  I, uh, never threw it away.  Maybe I held out hope.  And it doesn’t expire for another year,” Sam defended himself instantly, tossing it to the side of the bed.  “And look, you’re back!  Can you imagine how terrible this would be if we got to this point and _didn’t_ have lube?”

“Touche.” Dean acknowledged with a solemn nod.  Or, he tried, but he began laughing when he realized, “Hey!  You’re taking my virginity away.”

Even though Dean found it ironic that his body had been build from scratch again (it was Cas who informed him of that) and, yes, that meant everything would be a first-time kind of situation, those words alone took Sam to a completely different level.

His eyes instantly dilated with arousal, they were practically all black at the concept of being Dean’s first, with the barest ring of color around the edge.  His jaw was opened slightly with a wicked smile spreading on his face.  Dean knew he was in for it when Sam's entire body language went from ‘reunion sex’ to ‘I’m going to own your ass’ sex.  Hell, Dean caught sight of his cock twitch and drip precum at the admission.  Sam was completely and absolutely thrilled with this new information.

And the fact that Sam was so lust-drunk and heady in this fog?  Maybe it was contagious.

In an instant, he’d flipped open the bottle and spread the lube on his fingers, pushing the first inside Dean without warning.

He decided to egg Sam on, taunting, “You really like that, don’t you?  Knowing you’re going to be all my firsts?  I know you, I know damn well you’re going to take advantage of that, Sammy.  Anything that you want, this body has never experienced any of it.  Until _you_ decide to let it.”

A husky and rumbled, “Goddammit, Dean, you have no idea what that does to me,” right next to his ear.

“I think I’ve got an idea,” he teased and moaned as a second finger pushed into his hole, while Sam eagerly kissed down his body.  “I know how you get.   I know how you hate people playing with your things, even the idea.  No one but you will ever touch me, fuck me—you can do anything you want to me.”

The sounds from Sam’s throat could only be described as a low growl as he finger-fucked and scissored Dean open, needing to be one with him.  At the same time, he sucked his mark along Dean’s hip bones, his inner thighs that had the man mewling.

In a moment of stupid friggin insecurities, he had to know, he needed the confirmation for his own sanity: “Am I still one of your play things, Sammy?  Do you wanna keep me?”

That was the first thing that truly seemed to get through to Sam’s almost animal-like haze.  Although he gently pushed in a third finger, because he knew Dean was ready to take it, he surged up Dean’s body and kissed his lips tenderly.

“You’re not one of my play things.  I’m selfish and get jealous because you’re mine.  I love you, and I’m never letting you go.”  He stole one more kiss and twisted his fingers, earning a whimper, “You know that, right?”

Dean was falling apart underneath him but, he thought he did, at least he hoped…the silence must have worried Sam, because he pulled out of his body and urged, “You’re all I care about.  In every way.  That last year we spent together?  No matter the looming countdown—that’s what I want the rest of our lives to be.  Those were the best days of my life, our adventures, us not giving a fuck what people thought, loving each other in public where no one knew us, we where could be together.  I want that back so bad.”

With an off-kilter grin, Dean nodded and had to admit, “Shit, I want that too, Sammy.  Now, how about we start things off with a bang?  With you getting the hell inside me and fucking me with that huge cock.  Fuck me hard, 'til I can’t walk.  Can you handle that?” he asked with a challenging brow raised.

Sam didn’t smirk, he glowed.  

He grabbed the lube again and coated his dick, quipping, “You sure you’re ready to lose your virginity?” with a sultry grin.

“Shut up and get moving,” Dean rolled his eyes, spreading his legs wide and inviting and it left Sam absolutely breathless.

He never thought he’d have this again.  Which was why, when he lined up, he took pleasure and reveled in every since second, every single inch that he slid inside.  As Sam huffed and puffed with mind-blowing pleasure, Dean scrambled to acclimate to the goddamn stretch.  No matter how slow Sam had glided in, goddammit, he was still massive.  
  
It never mattered before—they used to screw like rabbits so Dean’s hole was always ready and waiting to be taken and fucked within an inch of his life.  Like he was made for Sam’s cock.  Right now, it was a new experience.  Not a bad one, just...new.

And Sam noticed this immediately, brushing the sweat-matted hair away from Dean’s brow and kissed him as a distraction until he could relax.  Then he did another sure-fire thing that always helped, whispering, “I love you so fucking much,” into Dean’s ear.  Because, that alone, made him come alive.  That made him and his body demand more.

“Move,” he ordered Sam, and it caught him off guard, so Dean barked out, “Now!” and Sam knew he was serious.

Even though the clenching around his cock was baffling, if Dean was asking for it?  Damn right, he was going to give it to him.

Sam started deliberately slow, but with deep rolls inside Dean, nearly choking around the sensation he never thought he’d have again.  God, it felt like coming home.  Sam’s arms boxed on either side of Dean’s head for leverage, and from under him, Dean hand reached out and grasped his wrists for something to hold onto.

He was flushed and moaning into each thrust, lifting his hips up to meet Sam’s, to encourage Sam.  That’s when he knew he could move a little faster.  There were so many things running through his head now, even though it had begun with cut and dry sex.  It was moving in a different direction.  Now he’d ducked down to suck a mark onto Dean’s throat with a wide grin.

“I took your first kiss,” Sam mused in a husky voice, punctuating his thrusts and leaving Dean shaky and needing.  “I’m the first one to feel the inside of your body…” now that he began, he couldn't stop, picking up speed and ordering, “I’ll be the first to suck your dick, taste your cum.  Eat you out until you’re a begging, writhing mess.  You’re all mine to touch, to please.”

“Jesus, Sammy!” Dean began cursing and he was a second away from begging, he knew it as Sam’s cock slammed down against his prostate.  He swallowed his groans and shouted before they left his chest, demanding, “Kiss me—” with a ferocity Sam couldn’t stay away from.

He dropped down to his elbows, grabbing Dean’s hair with one hand and loosely resting the other low on Dean’s throat.  Sam began to fuck him harder and harder while he licked inside his mouth, feeling his own impending orgasm.

Everything felt so unreal, so dream-like and he was completely hypnotized.  Now that he’d moved them closer, Dean was bucking upward, his cock dragging along Sam’s stomach, craving friction with every fierce pump of his hips.  Sam could feel the slick smear of pre-cum against his abs, coating him wherever Dean's dick rutted against him.  The fact Dean was so hungry for it kicked his own craving into overdrive, needing to please him.

“G-gonna be the first to fill you up, stretch you full with my cum.”  Sam pulled away to catch his earlobe between his teeth but the way Dean was arching off the bed told him he was close.

And Sam always loved to watch, it stole the air from his lungs.  He made it a point to make Dean get off first, the sight was beautiful and right now was no exception—he needed it in ways he couldn’t even explain—he needed it to be _real_...

Dean was a sweating, flushed vision underneath him, Sam pushed his legs wider, fucking him impossibly harder.  With swollen lips and a beautifully lustful gaze, Dean began twisting and grinding up on his cock.  His hands sought out Sam’s hips, arching with such force that the sound of their bodies slapping together was downright pornographic.

But it had nothing on the way Dean looked when he came.

He didn’t bother muffling it, he shouted Sam’s name out as he practically flew up off the bed, and his body seized.  Sam’s mouth was dry and he moved even faster, needing Dean’s pleasure to overwhelm his system.  Sam didn’t know the words, “God, you’re gorgeous,” had fallen from his lips until he’d doubled over again and felt his own impending orgasm.

Sam deliberately rocked their bodies together even closer, feeling them slide together, now covered in Dean’s release.  He swiped a hand through the cum dripping down Dean’s side and eagerly licked it off his fingers with an intoxicated sigh.

“Holy hell, Sammy,” Dean gasped from underneath him, and now, more coherent, devilishly asked, “What happened to you stretching me full?”

And, God, that was all it took.

Sam pitched forward, unabashedly sucking Dean’s bottom lip as the pleasure washed over him and he came hard.  Just as hard as he kissed him.  He continued to ride out the waves, grinding them together, fucking his cum as deep as he could because he was fanatical about the thought.  About all these ‘firsts,’ and making them damn well count.

He was left gasping and collapsed onto Dean’s chest after he finally pulled out, his own heaving up and down.

Dean cuffed underneath Sam’s chin with a smile and placed a single, tender kiss on his lips.  “ _You’re_  the fucking gorgeous one.  And this…” he paused for a second, waiting for Sam’s gaze to meet his.  “This is exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

With a mischievous grin, Sam quipped, “Sweaty, covered in cum and open to monster attacks?”

“No, smartass.”  Dean actually snorted a laugh.  “Together.  Happy.  Just like this.”  He appeared dramatically thoughtful for a moment and amended, “Well, maybe after a shower, but you catch my drift.”

Sam’s eyes shone brightly with pure joy at those words, because even though they weren’t a lot, they meant the whole damn world to him.  “Yeah.  I agree.”  He crawled up the bed so they were on the same level and noticed the way Dean was watching him, and he said the words they were both thinking.  “I love you.  I think we needed this.”

He was met with a chuckle and a nod in agreement.  “Doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure.”  Dean clucked his tongue, “I feel better.  About everything,” he sighed, tracing a finger down Sam’s neck and grinning at a random mark he‘d left, knowing this really was happening.  “And I love you, too.”


	3. Shit Can Always Get Worse

  
  
Torn and downright fearful, while wrapped up in Dean right before dawn, Sam _knew_ he hadn’t earned this.  He knew that soon enough shit was going to hit the fan and maybe he needed to get it out—on his own terms—before it blew up in his face.  Because it _would_.

Secrets always did.  Or rather…'omitting the truth.’

He wanted this back, fuck, did he want this.  The way Dean’s face was so relaxed pillowed against his shoulder, in a stolen moment only Sam saw.  The way they fit together.  All the chaste kisses and “I love you’s” with the additional “God, I missed you’s” before falling asleep.    
  
Their skin felt amazing pressed together, like they belonged here.  This was one of the reasons Sam never regretted coming clean about his feelings about Dean.

Even, what?  A year and over four months ago, when he had his freak-out, followed by his unhinged confession: it came from his heart.  He physically, and emotionally couldn’t stuff it down after the Crossroads Deal—it hadn’t even been a choice.  It was now or never.  And holy hell, had his world turned upside down when he found out he wasn’t alone.

Death was a constant looming over the horizon.  Yet, that was the best year of Sam’s life.

They were bold, reckless, in love.  Like friggin teenagers, making out whenever and wherever they could.  They’d get creative when they had downtime and right after hunts, hell, sometimes in the middle of hunts…Sam would never forget one second of the memories they made. The pit stops along the highway, because Dean would “not risk Baby over road-head.” ...Until that time he _did_.

Sam wanted all that back.  He wanted it all, and more.

But first, he had to come clean.  The secrets he was keeping needed to come out into light, and it needed to be soon.  Dean said the foundation was laid, it wasn’t going anywhere, so maybe if this truly hurt him, they’d have to start over.  But that was all right.  They had time on their side for once.

The knock on the door made Dean jolt up and reach for a gun on instinct.  Even though Sam groaned because of the loss of his warmth, he still multi-tasked, doing the same with the blade on his side table.  They both darted out of bed, finding their boxers and Dean pulling on a t-shirt.  Sam looked out the peephole to find someone very familiar and let her in.

“What the fuck?!” Dean demanded, as Ruby waltzed through the door, Sam shutting it behind her.  “A little warning, maybe!  And why are you here?”

“Got a tip.  A big one.”  Then after a long, deliberately lewd glance to egg Dean on, she commented, “Glad you two are working with more than ‘just the tip’ again.  God, it smells like sex in here.”

Dean’s jaw dropped as he continued dressing and he demanded to Sam, “She knows?!”

“Ha!  Do I know?!” Ruby rolled her eyes.  “You should be thanking me.  I was the only thing keeping him from slitting his wrists after your funeral, pal.”

Just those words, they shook Dean like nothing else had.  His eyes widened and he looked to his brother, mouth dry when he asked the hushed, “Is she…telling the truth?”

“No!” Sam blurted, then his volume was all over the place, “Yeah, kinda.  It’s…it’s really complicated, all right?!  I’ll tell you soon.  It’s a long story.  Just, I’m here now, right?”

“Yeah.  You are.”  Dean crossed the space and wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist, suddenly feeling really fucking shitty he had no idea about this before.  He turned back to Ruby, asking, “Okay, what’s this tip of yours?”

Sam smiled but pulled away as he went to work, awkwardly grabbing his own clothing, while Ruby explained to the hunters: “Hot little commodity.  Her name’s Anna Milton, and for some reason the demons want her.   _Bad_.  Her name’s been circulating through the channels, there’s rewards and everything.  I’m betting you’ll wanna get your hands on her first before a Hellion Bounty Hunter.”

“Why?” Dean asked gruffly, “What’s so special about her?  And why do we need to find her?”

“I thought your whole spiel was saving people,” Ruby countered right away.  “And this...it just _doesn’t happen_.  Demons hunting for one human, on a large scale operation like this?  Now, take it or leave it.  My work’s done.”  She snorted and left the motel as quickly as she’d entered.

Dean glared at the door long after she’d left, until Sam spoke up with, “She’s right, you know.  I’m gonna figure out where this girl is, and—”

“Whatever.  I’m gonna take a shower,” he scoffed ruefully and turned his path towards the bathroom as Sam moved to his laptop.

Sam sighed, because that wasn’t the best way to start the morning.  He had much, much higher hopes, and there was no way to salvage it, either.  All he could do was turn their attention towards the case—it was something to distract them and help them focus (hopefully make Dean forget about Ruby) and move on.

\--------------------------

It was their usual gig—playing the game of disguises, starting out as detectives as they followed Anna’s trail from a Behavioral Medicine Center (which Dean thought was a glorified loony bin), to her parent’s house (who were slaughtered and _reeking_ of sulfur—fan-fucking-tastic), back to her sketchbook to look for clues.

Because, yeah, all right.  Dean begrudgingly realized this girl _was_ special.  And Sam had the balls to even ask early on if he was pissed off they were going after this girl, or if he was pissed Ruby’s tip was panning out.  Because it was.

Anna’s sketches, her artwork—they were all drawn with aggressive digs of colored pencils, swirling charcoals, and other art supplies in this notebook she was ‘allowed’ by the institute.  But the haunting giveaway was they all depicted _the seals_.  The Rising of the Witnesses, Samhain, all of it

“Could be a psychic like Pam or Missouri,” Dean pointed out, as they flipped through, looking for a clue, any clue.  “Make sense why she’d be one step ahead of anyone following her, too.”

“Yeah, Ruby would know if she’s been grabbed yet, so she's still out there,” Sam said offhandedly, but it made Dean’s heckles raise.  Every time that damn name was mentioned his stomach churned.    
  
Sam froze on a certain page and paused to study it.  “Hey, you see that?  If she’s not drawing pics of our goddamn failed seals, she’s drawing her church.  Remember?  There was a picture of her and her family standing in front of it at their house.  Doesn’t that look familiar?”

“You’re right.”  Dean snatched it away and flipped through the pages until he found the one that he was looking for.  “Check it out.  You can see the details in the stained glass in this one.”  He rapped the back of his hand against the notebook.  “Where do you think you’d head if you were a young girl, afraid of people, of _demons_ coming after you, and wanted a place for protection?  Maybe even something holy?”

“That church,” Sam confirmed in an instant.  “I’ll look up the address.”

\-----------------------------

While they had been banking on finding Anna at the church, the thing that surprised them the most was the greeting.  This girl already knew who they were.  Before they could even get out their last names, Anna was bright eyed and stalking towards them with excitement.  Which wasn't exactly the usual Winchester reaction they received—normally being recognized by haughty monsters and demons, calling them out with venom and death threats.

Instead, Anna demanded, like he was some kind of rockstar, “ _The_ Dean Winchester?!  The angels, they talk about you all the time.  You were in Hell and Castiel saved you.  Some of them think you can save us!  I feel as if I know you,” her smile was bright, the kind that lit up a room.  The big missing link turned out to be the discovery she was tuned into angel radio, and on that note, she didn’t beat around the bush by telling Sam, “The angels, some of them don't like you at all.”

He’d huffed and groaned, “ _Fantastic_ , love that we’re celebrities, and both for different reasons,“ because that wasn’t new information.     
  
Still, knowing that distaste was going over the “wires” wasn’t the most flattering thing he’d heard all day.  Especially because _he_ had been the believer, he’d been hopeful and ecstatic when he learned of Heaven's existence.  Guess they didn’t feel the same.

“Well, it makes sense why the demons want you.”  Dean sighed, everything clicking and when he continued to say, “We’ll protect you, don’t worry—” he was interrupted.

Ruby stormed in like a legitimate tornado, fear in her eyes when she shouted, “You were followed!  By some heavy-hitter, we’ve gotta get her out of here, we have to—”

While Anna recoiled in horror, gasping out, “She’s a demon!  Her face—” Dean grabbed her just in time to see a statue not merely shake but…cry tears of blood? _Fuck_!  That couldn’t be good!

Their fears were confirmed when Ruby’s face paled and froze in terror, a hushed whisper on her lips, “It’s too late…they’re here—”

“Ruby, take Anna!  We’ll meet up with you!” Sam ordered before Dean could even argue, and she was hustling the woman through a back exit.  She told Sam as she ran, “You gotta hit him the second he comes in!  Don’t waste time or hesitate!  He’s too damn powerful!”

There were so many things that screamed _wrong_ , so many things that Dean wanted to shout back at her: telling Ruby to fuck off, he didn't trust her with the girl, telling Sam there _was_ another way...but the heavy footstep were foreboding—there wasn’t time!  Still, there was only one of him, two Winchesters, they had the knife on their side—so how powerful could he be?

Dean’s eyes were wide the second Sam raised his hand and the man appeared, using that psychic crap he hated, but if the demon _was_ this strong?  If the fear in Ruby's eyes was true?  Maybe there _wasn’t_ another option…

Except, to both brothers’ bafflement, Sam’s powers didn’t work.  And both men felt their stomachs drop out, just because they knew how damn powerful Sam was and how he could take down any number of demons with a snap, how he’d taken down Samhain!  Who the hell was this?!  They couldn't have prepared for it—

Before Sam could do anything, the man chuckled and was within range to knock him across the room and down the stairs.  His long limbs collided with each old, wooden step and his head violently struck the walls and he tumbled down.  Sam was stunned by the time he landed at the bottom, which left Dean alone, but he was ready.  Even if there was some kind of striking interest in this fucker’s eyes.

Dean threw everything he had at the demon.  He tried to fight, he tried to throw punches but it was pointless when a wave of a hand could slam his entire body from one side of the room to the other.  Dean played through the pain, until he was pinned against the wall and the demon was chuckling and sneering, “Hello again, Dean!  Come on, don’t you recognize me?”

And there was this horrible, horrible ice that shot through Dean’s veins.  He prayed with everything in him that he was wrong, but the expression of sadistic enjoyment playing across the demon’s expressions—God, no.  It had to be… _fuck_ , he had to be…

“Oh, I forgot.  I’m wearing a pediatrician—”

No, no, no—Dean couldn’t hear anymore, he struggled against the hold he was in, kicking and fighting.

“But we were so close!”  The demon leaned in, his nasal-rasp confirming the horror Dean knew to be true, “In Hell—”

“Alastair,” Dean choked out, and the smile that lit up the demon's face was nothing short of malicious glee.

He managed to twist out of his grip, Alastair merely toying with him, letting Dean break free for a second, because it didn't matter in the end, he was—!    
  
Something happened—because the demon froze up and tripped backwards away from Dean, grappling for his back.  Once Alastair was far enough away, he could see Sam standing shocked and panting directly behind him.  His brother’s eyes were wide, because it _hadn’t killed him,_ Ruby’s knife had only made him stagger and seize up and they needed to get the fuck out!

In one of those moments, they glanced between each other, to the stained glass window, and back again.  With a simple nod, they gained traction against the old attic flooring before they _launched_.

It didn’t matter the height of the fall, some cuts, bruises and maybe even a broken bone was worth it to see another day.  If they’d continued to fight?  They’d _die_.  They were outmatched in every aspect and they hit the floor, with the wind knocked from the lungs, and started running before they could even catch their breath.

\------------------------

Dean was still shaken, like he’s been hit by a train after hearing that voice, that _taunting_ , which was why he had to muster up the extra bravado.  Because if he thought about Alastair and what happened in Hell…Oh, God, he might just fall apart.

Instead, he felt the pain of Sam stitching his wound, sewing his flesh back together and zoned in on every puncture, every tug of the needle.  Dean concentrated on _that_ , making jokes like he wasn’t breaking and terrified that the demon walked the Earth.  He wouldn’t crumble into a quivering mess, he _would_ be strong, he had to be.

It was okay, Dean reminded himself, over and over…he had his brother.  They’d fight together, they were working.  Everything was slowly veering back on course, and his heart was happily beating love back into life again.

He hissed as the whiskey was poured over the wound and Dean reached out with a “Bartender!” but not before stealing a kiss.

Except Sam was oddly standoffish.

Dean took a long swig, unrolling his sleeve and frowning, “Hey.  Are you okay?”

“I…” he took a deep breath and went to sit on the edge of the other bed with his hands folded.  His body language was all off, he appeared nervous and there was no reason for him to be.  So what the hell was going on?  “There’s something that we need to talk about.”

Fuck.  Dean hated that disclaimer.

“All right,” he said in a gentle voice, waving at Sam to continue.  “You know that we can talk about anything.  Do it.  Get it off your chest.”

“I know, but this is…really, really hard.”  He doubled over, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands before he grumbled, “When you died…I was fucked.  I tried making deals with Crossroads Demons, I tried everything in the book.  My breakfast lunch and dinner was booze, I was a wreck.”  With a glance up, he folded his hands under his chin but still didn’t face Dean.  “The reason I trust her so much…was because Ruby really did save me.”

That made Dean’s heart ache, that he put his brother through so much pain, but he urged him on with, “I’m listening, Sammy.”

“Only thing I cared about was revenge.  She told me she could help me with my powers, to take Lilith out.  But first, I needed to step away from the bottle.  At the beginning, I sucked.  Fuck, I was _the worst_ and couldn’t do a damn thing, always had to turn back to the knife.  But I did get stronger.  And then I found an omen that said Lilith was in town, and I went for it.  Ruby told me no, told me there‘s no way in hell I could take her.  But to be honest?  I didn’t care, maybe it _was_ a suicide mission, because I-I didn’t have much to live for.  Turned out to be a trap.  And Ruby, she saved me.”

“All right,” Dean nodded carefully, “Still don‘t like her, but that gets her out of the negative points in my book.  But you’re still acting all weird, dude.  If she talked you off the ledge and—”

There was one reason that Sam was behaving like this.  One thing that he couldn’t put those damn words together to say.  Hell, maybe he was leaving it up to Dean to say because he was too much of a goddamn coward.  Dean still hoped against hope he was wrong, because if he was right, his heart would be torn in two.

“Wait.  You’re—”  Now Dean’s words were failing him, too.  “You’re not done.  Not yet.  The whole ‘there’s something we need to talk about’ thing?  We haven’t gotten to it yet, have we?”

Sam shook his head while he worried his lip, and even though now Dean was damn near positive, he was going to make Sam fucking say it.  He owed Dean that much.

Because who knew?  What if the two were doing exactly what he thought they were doing when Bobby and Dean walked in, fresh out of Hell?  What if they were together and that’s where the blind trust came from?  What if this was “well, it was fun while it lasted, but I’ve gotta demon girlfriend now, Dean.”  He wouldn’t be able to take it.  Dean was so close to breaking even before this, Sam’s words, his confessions—it might push him over the edge.

Finally, Sam’s voice was barely audible in the room when he said, “It…just happened once.”

Wiping a hand down his face, Dean couldn’t help feeling the sting of betrayal, mostly because she _still_ had her claws in him.  Ruby was the one who taught him how to use those powers, making the angels threaten to go Biblical Fury on his ass.  She was putting him in danger.  And Sam?  He trusted her so fucking deeply.  Enough to have sex with her and continue being BFFs every day after.  That…didn’t happen.  Especially in their line of work.

Jesus, he cared about her enough to openly lie to Dean about it to his face.  And who knew?  He could be lying now!  The “just happened once” thing?  Dean didn’t put much stock into it.  The confession was just that—getting the words out, but parts of the admission felt far from genuine.

Fuck!  That meant he had a demon’s sloppy seconds—!

“Dean.”  There was something frantic in Sam’s voice, “Listen, it was a crazy time, I wasn’t myself and I needed to tell you.  Because I-I didn’t want to hide anything from you, there was never a good time and I—”

“Goddammit, Sam!” he all but erupted, “When I died, you weren’t supposed to stay in this fight!  You hate hunting!  I’m the asshole that dragged you back into it!  Then, you had a way out, a way to leave all this behind.  You were supposed to go back to school, find a pretty girl, get a nine to five and have kids and a mutt.  You weren’t supposed to have a demon find you at the bottom of a bottle, manipulate you, fuck you, use you and continue to mess with your head!”  Once the rage built up, he couldn't hold back.

“S-she’s not like that!” Sam was shocked by both the passion and the accusations.  “Ruby never manipulated me, okay?!  I'm sorry, all I could think about was _you_!  And killing Lilith!  She took you away from me!  I don’t want all that white-picket-fence shit, I wanted you!  I wanted to hunt alongside you, research in shady motel rooms, and eat at greasy dinners while you make fun of my rabbit food!  That’s my dream, dammit, and Lilith took it away!  She took my everything!”

With clenched teeth and a set jaw, Dean didn’t know what to say.

Sure, that made him feel better, to know what no matter what...Sam’s little slice of Heaven on Earth was with him.  Still—Dean was rattled by Alastair.  He couldn’t even gain control of himself, receding deeper and deeper into his own feelings of Hell and now that Sam had rammed _this_ little affair down his throat?

He felt lost.

Dean could have handled all these problems, individually.  But the confession of Sam down and dirty with Ruby, _and_ the demon who’d introduced him to the racks appearing on Earth looking for them, in the _same day_ …Dean was motionless, useless and stunned.  With no idea where to go, what to do, anything—he stayed frozen.

There’s a hand on Dean's shoulder gripping him and Sam was on his knees in front of him, distress and panic on his face.  Like there was something seriously wrong.  Oh, if only he knew…  He kept saying Dean’s name, over and over—like this echo that didn’t register, until there was a knock on the door.  One that wouldn’t stop and Sam was forced to begrudgingly leave him to answer it.

Yeah, Dean heard the conversation in passing (even though it sounded like he was listening from underwater), an exchange between Sam and a take-no-shit sassy maid who…Of-fucking-course, ended up being Ruby in a snatched-up vessel.

All it really amounted to was Ruby ordering: _Here’s the address of the cabin where Anna‘s camped out at.  Demons are surrounding this motel, so you’ll need to exit through the bathroom window.  Leave the car, get over here ASAP.  Uh, here take these towels or whatever._

Just like that, she was gone.

Now, Dean finally had a purpose, a mission, a calling.   _Something to do_.  Instead of internally freaking out, fighting this battle within himself and itching inside his own meat suit: Anna needed protection.  This was something he _could_ fix, since Dean felt like he was a lost cause.

Dean tried his damnedest not to look or make eye contact, but with a half-moment’s glance, Sam looked so scared.  Just as he did when he was younger and got in trouble, thinking it was the end of the world.  Dean had a pretty fucking good idea that he was afraid of losing him.  What Sam didn’t know what that Dean was afraid of losing _himself_ , right now.  They’d figure out ’them’ later; it wasn’t the time.  Yeah, he felt hurt, he felt lied to.  Dean would let it simmer and see just how much damage it did in the end.   
  
That wasn’t a priority, not now.

\----------------------------------

The first words Dean spoke were to Anna.

Not to Sam during their escape.  Not in the truck they’d hot-wired.  Not on their way to the cabin.  Not while they exited the doors of the truck, and Sam all but screamed, “Dean, _please_ , aren’t you going to—” after multiple attempts at conversation on the way over.

But instead, he picked up his pace to outrun Sam and all but threw open the door.

His facade was back up, he’d left behind whatever emptiness, betrayal and hurt he felt in the stolen vehicle when he rushed to the girl and asked, “Are you alright?”

Anna smiled at him softly and nodded.  “I’m okay.  Ruby’s not like other demons, she’s kept me safe.”

Dean had to hold back, he _couldn’t_ recoil even though the bitch was sauntering around like she owned the place and a shiver ran through his spine.  “Yeah, mighty nice of her.”

“You weren’t followed, right?” Ruby was speaking with Sam, and watching him carefully because something was off.  “Hey, you okay?”

Sam tried to snap himself out of it because, no, nothing was okay.  But at the very least, he could admit, “Made sure we weren’t.  Took a couple loops around the block before even heading here on the back roads.  No one tailed us.”

But just then, Ruby's eyes widened and she demanded, “Are you _sure_?” looking around the cabin with a frantic pace because she could feel…”Something’s coming.  Something with _insane_ power, you have the knife ready?”

“Uh…about that.  We kind of lost it,” Sam admitted with a nervous chuckle, feeling the pricks of static pick up in the room because of _another_  impending powerhouse titan, but a different kind.

“You _what_?!”  The demon was not as amused.  “That was our ace in the hole!  Without it we—” she tried to take a deep, calming breath, thinking of what the fuck they were supposed to do now.  “It’s coming closer.  We need to hide Anna, _go_!”

Dean was more than happy to follow that direction, ushering the poor girl into the closest room he could find, one that she could lock.  He stared Anna in the eyes and said, “No matter what you hear, don’t come out, all right?  We’re gonna protect you, but you’ve _gotta_ stay hidden.  Please, you’ve—”

She reached up and cupped Dean’s face in a show of affection, one that Sam saw out of the corner of his eye and made him flinch.  “I know you’ll do everything you can.  The way the angels talk about you.  You’re _strong_ , Dean, and _good_.  I’ll stay right here.”

“Uh...”  He awkwardly said, “Awesome.  Now, I’m gonna get outta here, you lock the door behind me,” and he made his hasty escape.

Sam’s jaw was clenched with jealousy, but he knew he had no reason to act this way, given what he’d just shared with Dean.  Instead, the three of them grabbed all the weapons they still had, wielding and waited by the entrance.  This unearthly wind kicked up, the doors trembling like they were being slammed upon by something made of sheer power quaked more violently by the second, until they flew open on their own.

With a huge sigh and a wide smile, Dean tucked away his gun.  “Thank God you’re here, Cas!”

Sam was even more confused, now.  He thought his brother hated the angels, but he looked at this one like he was an old friend.  With fondness and excitement at the same time.  What the hell was going on?

“Dean,” Castiel acknowledged, “We know you have Anna, and we need you to hand her over to us,” and glanced towards Uriel.

That’s when Dean knew that something was wrong.    
  
Cas, his Cas, didn’t speak to him like this.  Like the soldier he’d met in the barn or the straight-laced angel he'd been the few weeks after.  They were now on much, much more, well…comfortable terms.  Hell, he thought of Cas as a confidant, a good friend, and this one in front of him...his voice had now dropped, laced with ice covering steel.  Was it because of Uriel or was it—

 _Fuck_.

“Why do you want her?  What are you going to do with her?” Dean narrowed his eyes, mostly to Uriel because he hated that sonuvabitch.

When he looked at Cas, even though his body language was stiff and unforgiving, along with his tone, his eyes told a different story when they locked with Dean’s and he said, “We’re here for Anna…because she has to die.”

“No, no, Cas, you don’t mean that—” Dean pleaded with him because there’s no way Cas, _his friend_ , would kill this girl in cold blood!

Uriel drawled out, “Oh, Anna is not as innocent as she appears.  Don’t let her fool you.”

Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing and spat back, “She’s still just a girl!”

That was when Uriel actually went in for an attack.  But before he could make contact, before he could do anything, Castiel and Uriel were frozen, caught up in this white, blue flash of _blinding_ light.  When it dimmed, they had vanished.    
  
Except, Dean’s stomach dropped out because…what happened to Cas?  Was he all right, had he just—

Everyone looked around with panic, before they rushed to Anna’s safe room.

Her door had been unlocked, and she was staring blankly at the mirror in front of her.  It was covered in a dripping, bloody sigil from a wound she had carved into her wrist.  Anna began blabbering, “I-I don’t know where it came from, it just popped into my head and…I knew it would send them away—!”

Dean crowded her space, grabbed both her shoulders and instantly demanded, “So Cas, he’s okay, just…on a trip, or something?  You didn’t kill him?   _Please_ , tell me you didn’t!”

“That’s what your priorities are?!” Ruby demanded, completely offended and disgusted by Dean’s questions.  “Shouldn’t we be talking about, oh, how to duck and dodge the goddamn Angel Club?  As if demons weren’t enough!  She’s wanted by Heaven and Hell!”

Dean whipped around, his glare sharpened dangerously and snapped, “How about you shut the fuck up?  I can ask her whatever the hell I want!  Because I already know the next step.  We’re going to Bobby’s, we’re gonna hide her in that panic room figure out why she’s tuned into Angel Radio and why she knew this banishing sigil!  Because if we can figure out a way to change the channel?  Heaven and Hell can get off our backs!”

He quickly wrapped her wound and ordered, “Now, we’re hitting the road.  I’ll get Pam on the phone and see if she can’t help us figure out an answer.”

“Okay, fine,” Ruby rolled her eyes.  “Let’s get to it.”

\-----------------------

When it came out that Anna was an angel, the woman was heartbroken and then manifested into an entirely new person.  It was a bitter pill to swallow, watching the once vibrant woman dim.  The loss could be felt through her entire demeanor no matter how she tried to push through, her sparkle as a human had been shrouded with the knowledge and the memories of Heaven, Anna...wasn’t the Anna they’d previously saved.  
  
The discussion and field-trip to find her grace ended up being a pointless journey, and discouragement grew with every passing hour.  Especially, when Angel Radio kicked in with a horrible new 'Ad Campaign.'

They couldn’t locate the Winchesters.

Which meant they couldn’t locate Anna.

But, perhaps, Castiel could.

And Anna relayed to Dean that the angels were saying (on repeat) if she wasn’t given up to them, they’d send him right back to Hell.  Dean had just laughed and found it ironic—he already felt like he was in Hell.  So he snagged a bottle of bourbon and walked outside to drink it, alone.

Dean had fleeting thoughts like—would it really be so bad?  Maybe that’s where he belonged in the first place.  Maybe he never should have left.  Maybe there was nothing for him on Earth.  He didn’t feel like he had a place anymore, he didn’t feel much of anything.

Seeing Alastair…it rattled him to the core.  It brought back the memories he fought to forget.

Then, following immediately after that bullshit, Sam confessing all the crap he’d been hiding from Dean since the _moment_ he’d been resurrected?  The things that he should have been filled in about, right out the gate?  Did he think Dean was so fragile and weak that he couldn’t handle it?  Well, congrats, little brother.  Waiting made it worst.

Dean took pull after pull from the bottle, until he heard the door open and steps.

Then, he chugged.

\---------------------

Ruby had taken off, so it was only Sam and Anna inside the house looking out, and both had their attention and focus solely on Dean.  The ultimatum had them both worried.  The pair was equally concerned about how he was handling it.  Some days (most days), Dean was a loose cannon, and this situation was unpredictable at best.

What pissed Sam off was the fact that Anna was _pining_.  Everyone knew damn well that she had a massive crush on his brother as a human—and as a fallen angel—it wasn’t even a secret!  Her feelings hadn’t changed, which was interesting because of how cold angels were chalked up to be.  But not Anna.

She raised her voice to ask Sam, “Is this usually how he fixes his problems?”

Sam scoffed and said, “One of two ways,” elusively.

Anna turned with piqued interest and pried, “And what’s the second?”

“Sex.”  Why hide it if she was pushing?  

That had been another part of their relationship, _especially_ when they were both frustrated and needed to work out stress.  Not to mention that it was pretty amazing, considering they didn’t have to worry about breaking one another, they could be as rough and carnal as they wanted.  The hunters could just fuck away their problems and then bask in the afterglow, everything melting away with happy sighs, their bodies tangled together.

Sam was terrified he’d never get that back.

Anna hummed to herself and commented, “Interesting.  I can see it, though.  He seems repressed.  Something must have happened since the last time I saw him.  It’s terrible, he has such a big heart.”  She began walking to the door, and Sam did a double-take.

“Where are you going?”  Sam did his damnedest to keep his voice light, but he was nervous.

She smiled without a care in the world and said, “I’m going to see if I can help your brother.  Perhaps I can be of some use.  Make him feel better.”

Sam’s internal dialogue said _hell no._  And in any other situation, Dean would’ve laughed and ignored her, but in this particular scenario?  After what Sam had done to him, and how Dean had reacted to it?  Fuck, Sam was scared he may take her up on the offer.

And Sam would be crushed, he’d fucking break, if Dean did that—

…but what right, what claim did he have to stop Anna?

They’d been so hit and miss since he’d been resurrected, and no matter how much Sam loved him, how much he wanted things to go back to normal—they kept hitting roadblocks.  They couldn’t get over that hurdle, they couldn’t—

“Oh.”  Sam said simply, knowing it came out sadly.

Anna hesitated at the door, watching him in confusion, “You don’t think…it’d be a bad idea, do you?”

“It’s whatever.”

“All right…” she said slowly, and left the house, walking out towards Dean.

Sam was left to watch through the window, because he was a damn masochist and _had_ to know what was going to happen.  He had to know what Dean did, how far Anna pushed, what was going down.  And, he was scared.  Sam had never, ever second-guessed their relationship before right _now_.

God, things were so skewed, it hurt.

He wanted to run out there, to scream “I love you” at the top of his lungs, to beg Dean back and kiss him breathless.  Instead, he was watching some fallen angel try and make a move on him.  What the hell was going on, and why was Sam letting it happen?

\--------------------------------

With the liquor to dull the pain in his heart, speaking with Anna actually helped him to come alive with… _something_ , again.  Maybe it was talking to a third party, maybe it was what they were talking _about_ , listening to her story, everything was working out until she mentioned it.

Hell.

Then, his world nearly collapsed once more.  Anna said she knew what happened, she—

But she grabbed the side of his face and assured him, “Dean, you need to forgive yourself,” before closing the distance between them and pulling him into a tender kiss.

She tried for more, but it didn’t feel right.

No, _nothing_ about this felt right.

Dean took her hand into his and slowly removed it from his cheek, telling her, “Anna, I’m gonna be hittin’ the road tonight, heading back downstairs—I’m not gonna take pity sex.  That’s the same thing as takin' advantage of you.”

She chuckled and tried again, urging, “No, it’s not.  Since the moment I met you, I’ve been drawn to you.  I _want_ this, I… _want you_.”

“Anna, I…have someone.  Even though we’re in a rough spot, I know we’ll work it out.  We always do.  I can’t cheat on them just because I’m pissed right now.”  Saying the words out loud, Dean surprised himself.  

It also solidified in his mind that it was Sam.  It would _always be_ Sam.

Even with this gorgeous, knock-out of a woman throwing herself at him.

Anna studied him carefully and nodded, saying, “I apologize, then.  I wouldn’t want to ruin things for you.  Is there…anything I can do to help?  Do you need a listening ear?”

And, wow, she was honest, genuine and wanted to help _after_ being turned down.  She wasn’t shunned, she wanted to be a shoulder to cry on, for fuck's sake.  Dammit, Anna Milton really was an angel.

Dean smiled widely at her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in.  “I think it might just be time.  I need time to think, collect my thoughts, shit, collect _myself_.  And…Hell has a big part of that, something from downstairs is haunting me.”  With a shake of his head, he was loose-lipped, admitting, “And while I was gone, they did some things that…really, _really_ fucked me up when I found out.  A couple hours ago actually.  It’s a fresh wound.”

Just then, Dean locked up, his entire body went stiff.

He’d just given himself away.

Because the _only_ person he could have been with a couple hours ago?

Was _Sam_.

He’d just admitted to being in a relationship.  With his _brother_.  To a fucking Angel of the Lord.

Anna laughed, of course she did, and she laid her head on his shoulder.  “I’m not here to look down my nose at you, Dean.  Me, of all people, my actions—they were blasphemy.  Welcome to the club.”

“Really?” Dean’s voice was just shy of a whisper before the woman nodded, her lack of judgment reminding him of Cas (Dean hoped he was all right), as well as her next words, proving that there were _some_ good angels out there.

“ _Really_.  Love is love.  At least, that’s what I believe.”  She chuckled and recalled, “That makes sense, now.  Why Sam was so…awkward, about me joining you.  Oh, you could tell if he could find a good reason to keep me inside, he would, he just didn’t have one.  That’s cute.”

With a snort, Dean agreed.  “Sam’s a damn genius.  When he’s hunting on the fly, he can make anything work.  When it’s with people on a case?  He's a'okay.  But if it’s a personal, touchy subject; he gets a little flustered.”

“You two _need_ to talk,” Anna stated and finally pulled out of Dean’s grip.  “Before it’s too late.  Please?”

“Heh, before I go back to Hell, you mean?” Dean snarked wryly.

Anna grabbed his cheeks with intent—her eyes narrowed and her body language serious as she stated, “You, Dean Winchester, are not going back to Hell.  I am going to make certain you won’t.  Just trust me.  I’ve got a plan.”

Although he didn’t quite believe her, he raised an eyebrow and nodded, “Okay, Anna.  I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You will,” she promised.  “Now, if you could only make things right with Sam, we’d be good to go.”  
  
Of course, Dean agreed.  But would it be that easy?


	4. Seeking Forgiveness is Easier than Begging Permission

  
  
Sam was inside and he was fuming, he was pacing and trying his damnedest not to freak out at the scene unfolding outside.  But maybe this was what he deserved?  Maybe this was all in God’s plan, since the angels were surrounding him, threatening him, loathing his very existence—maybe this was some kind of cruel divine retribution.

Fuck, he hadn’t even bothered hiding himself as he watched out the window.

The two were so caught up in their conversation his looming didn't even register.  And then when she leaned in to kiss Dean?

Sam was seething.  Because—

Fuck it.  It didn’t matter which way you spelled it, how you went around it, Dean was his.  He wasn’t above admitting that, and at the end of the day Sam truly believed that Dean belonged to him, and only him.  And Anna’s lips on Dean’s?  He was lucky there was only a goddamn sink in front of him, or he would have been throwing whatever was there across the room in a furious rage.

When he finally looked back up from seeing red, fists clenched so tight the bite of nails were nearly bleeding crests in his palms, his heart was in his throat because…Dean had his arm wrapped around Anna.  They were still talking, so fucking cozy and comfortable with one another, it sickened Sam.  Especially when they laid their heads against one another.

He’d be pissed, on a good day.

But these days, with the demon blood in his system, he’d reached a whole new level of emotions.  He’d become a entirely new breed of monster.  Sam couldn’t help it, how he was feeling, how everything was heightened beyond belief, it wasn’t fair.  And detoxing wasn’t as easy as it looked.  He’d tried, fucking hell, had he tried.

It physically hurt, the withdrawals and feeling helpless, weak, and slow as it left his body.  He knew he’d have to wean himself off instead of cold turkey, and he hoped Dean didn’t notice.  Well, the two fuckin’ lovebirds were so busy, it wasn’t like Sam couldn’t go up to his room and take a swig of Ruby’s blood.  So he did.  And he chased it with alcohol.  That’s when he heard the sound of…footsteps?

Jesus Christ, if they even thought about fucking in the room next to Sam—he was gone.  They could’ve used the Impala, it wouldn’t have been Dean’s first time.  But instead…it sounded like they were chatting at the dining room table and Sam had no way to take that.

Should he make an appearance?  It was late, but not late enough to go to bed.

He tucked away the hidden flask after drinking blood more than he should have, and followed with a long chug of the rum before descending the stairs.  Dean and Anna were…hanging out.  Shooting the shit.  Dean was pouring shots for both of them at this point, but Sam knew his brother was drunk.  He didn’t blame him after the threat he received.

“Hi Sam,” Anna greeted with a wave.  “We’re playing a drinking game.  Come sit with us.”

“Nah, I’m good,” he returned in a monotone way, taking another swig from his own bottle, stating blandly, “I don’t need a game to get plastered.”

It was only then that Dean turned his head and looked at him.  Really looked at him.  For the first time since his confession.  Sam knew his brother was shit-faced, it was probably spurred on by liquid courage alone that he finally had the resolve to stare at him.

It was proven when Dean mused, “Thought you liked drinking games.”

Sam sunk into his hip with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling, before coming to the conclusion, “Wouldn’t want to interrupt.  You two seem like you’re having a blast together.  Really connecting.  Who knows what’s gonna happen tomorrow, you should make the most of tonight.”

Every single word of it was passive-aggressive, spoken like a challenge, and before Dean could reply, Sam stalked off to the living room and turned on Bobby’s ancient television set.  After examining the fifth in his hand, he confirmed—yes.  This bottle _would_ be enough to get him drunk.  Sam wouldn’t have a damn reason to go back into the kitchen for more.

He wouldn't be forced to see Dean with Anna again.

Sam flipped through channels and pretended it didn’t feel like he’d been stabbed in the chest.  Eventually, he landed on a movie and made it his goal to make the booze disappear.  This could be his own “drinking game” or whatever.  Fuck, if his body wasn’t doing strange things.

The demon blood mixed with the liquor made for an interesting cocktail.

As he sunk back into the couch, his entire system, all the physical sensations were working in his favor.  A dark smile twisted on his features because the blood was soaking in, he could feel the power grow and fill him up.  Sam felt the slightest high from getting it back in his own bloodstream once more.  And then the warm and fuzzy pull of the booze?

If he could turn his brain off and simply _exist_ , that would be amazing.  It would be perfection because he wasn’t feeling any pain, not in his body.  It was mental anguish, stinging jealously (the demon blood whispered to Sam to take her out of the picture), and this ache...it came from missing Dean.  Missing out on chances to be with Dean, one of them being right now.

Then the knowledge he’d been the one to ruin them.

Sam was shaking with anger for a split second, grasping the remote so hard that it cracked within his grasp.  The television went dark and Sam blinked back.  God, that was just proof of how tense he was.  Maybe he had drank too much from the flask...

With the bottle tipped back, he wondered just what he should do.  Go outside and try to work some of the stress off?  Pass the fuck out and pray that the plan went accordingly tomorrow?  He was at a loss.  Sam, while fighting his own demons, was also fighting whatever the hell situation this was.

He stood up, and just as he did so Anna walked across the room, casually asking, “Guestroom is third on the left, right?”

Sam did a double-take, and with his brows screwed up in confusion nodded.  “You headed to bed, or what?”

“Yeah.”  There was a slight slur in her voice.  “Don’t drink much, so it hit me quick.  Asked Dean if there was a place I could crash and he pointed me to the guest room.  Panic room isn't all it's cracked up to be.”

“And he’ll probably be joining once he cleans up, huh,” Sam grumbled under his breath, but Anna had heard it, loud and clear.

Her drunk mind had her cackling and gripping the handrail.  “You’re insane, Sam.  I’m not a homewrecker.  ’Specially when he clearly has someone he’s in love with right friggin‘ here.  Told me so himself.  And I told him you guys need to make up before it’s too late.”  She paused after taking two stairs upward, “Wow, that sounded waaay more ominous than I intended…but what I meant to say is: you’re both drunk.  Best way to ignore your problems and reunite!”  
  
Anna continued talking to herself, mumbling something about, “being an enabler” while giggling.  And after a few staggering steps, she was gone and on her way to the guest room.

Suddenly, Sam realized he was a goddamn idiot.  All his fears, everything he’d felt this horrible rage for, it was all for nothing.  Shit, the demon blood had been craving Anna’s head on a platter when she was an innocent third party, and that made him afraid of _himself_.  Hell, she was probably the one spurring Dean on to forgive him!  Sam felt like such an asshole.

Still, everything was wrong and he didn’t know how to make it right.

There was this fire, this all-consuming desire that was lighting up Sam’s insides, now that he knew what was happening.  At first, when he thought wrongly of Anna, it had been a flame of a different color, but now all these energy that didn’t know where to go?  It had picked out a brand new direction.  

Anna said it was the best way to reunite, right?  So Sam chugged the rest of the bottle, which added more fuel, and waited for a few spare moments.  He was trying to see if Dean was going to be heading upstairs anytime soon.  Because it would be so much easier to corner him in the darkness of the living room.  But soon, Sam’s patience ran out.  He stood up from the couch, set the broken remote on the table and made his move into the kitchen.

Dean was staring off blankly, hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle.  Until Sam spun in like a hurricane, gaze set, landing in front of him, standing tall and poised and almost right up in Dean’s space.  
  
He jerked back at the intensity, completely caught off guard and demanded, “Woah!  What’s with you?”

“You’re ‘what’s with me,’” Sam didn’t feel bad about letting anything slip.  “Dean, I…when I saw you with Anna.  When she kissed you, when you two were so close, when I thought you were going to take her to bed?  I can’t even _begin_ to explain how I felt—”

“Heh, probably a lot like how I felt when you fucked a demon and not only hid it from me, but continued to be besties and work with the thing on a daily basis.  How do I know that those hook-ups ever stopped?  Two’a you are so damn cozy, it’d only make sense.  Why else would Ruby help?  Because she’s getting her own reward—which is you, Sammy.  That’s where my head is right now!”  Dean surged up to his feet, “And you know damn well I’d never fucking cheat on you!  Sure, Anna made a move.  I stopped her right away, told her there was someone else.  She dropped it.  You’re welcome!”

“I-I,” Sam stumbled over what he should be saying to make this right.  “There is nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , going on between me and Ruby.  I don’t know how to get that out of your head,” he spat out, but right now his focus was elsewhere.  He needed to emphasize what was happening  _here_!  “That was in the past, it’s gone.  The present really opened my eyes.  When Anna… Fuck, I was spinning out of control, okay?!  I felt like I was going bat-shit crazy by even the concept.”  The words escaped Sam’s mouth before he could try to control them, “You belong to me.  No one gets to touch you but me.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, but the expression on his face, well—it was a fight to keep it natural.  Sam knew he shouldn’t have said it, it was over the top, it was fueled by his darker side—but it was out in the open.  It was how he felt, how he loved: and that was completely.

“I’ll make it up to you, I’ll do whatever you need me to do, just…tell me in the end—I’m yours and you’re mine,” Sam pleaded, because Dean wasn’t giving him much to work with.

And that was unacceptable.  Because if he continued this?  He was going to have to move.

“Sam, I can’t—”

Sam already hated the beginning of that sentence, he didn’t want to hear the rest.  So instead, he used nothing but brute strength to hoist Dean off the chair he’s been perched on and up the stairs to his bedroom.  It was the furthest away from Anna (who was probably sleeping, anyway) and even though the bed was small, Sam would make due.

“What the hell are you—” Dean hissed out, not appreciating being manhandled like a fucking woman and then thrown down onto the bed, but he tried not to shout for Anna’s benefit.  Okay, sometimes Sam’s strength turned him on, oh—did it do amazing things to him.  Except, right now he was at a crossroads.  “You can’t just—!”

“Yes, I can, and I will.” The determination in his voice was unwavering.

The liquor and demon blood were made to drive and inspire him, Sam’s eyes heavy with sheer lust and longing, staring Dean down with something powerful.    
  
He was feral, needing Dean, needing things to be better, needing them to be one and needing them to work.  Even though, okay, there was a very good chance Dean would bite off his lip if he tried to kiss him, Sam could still kiss and suck marks into his neck while he yanked his shirt off.

Flushed and frustrated, Dean didn’t know what to do.  It was a mind versus body situation, because _he_ hadn’t forgiven Sam.  But…his body sure as hell didn’t want this to stop, his throbbing and pre-cum dripping dick said as much.  However, from previous situations?  When they had gotten into arguments and Sam came at him with this tenacity?

Yeah, there had been a few times where Dean had been on the fence.  And Sam knocked him right the fuck off it.  He was flailing, knowing this was one of those situations as Sam moved too damn fast for Dean’s drunken brain, ripping his clothes off urgently.

It wasn’t like he was sheer strength alone, Sam was sheer passion—that was the difference.  The way that he wanted Dean, the hunger and desire, _that’s_ what won him over every time.  Their connection and desire for each other.

Except, maybe this time was different.

Maybe Dean needed to get his own shit together, because he was stronger now, he wouldn’t just bend over.  Hell tended to do that to you.

While Sam was teasing his nipples into hardness (Jesus, it felt amazing and part of him hated that he had to do this) Dean grabbed fistful of his long hair and hauled him back up.  Sam’s smile was devilish when he was face to face with Dean and he flicked his tongue across Dean’s lips before he started speaking.

“Sam, we can’t.  Neither of us, we’re…not us.  I’m still trying to come to terms with…all that shit you told me.  You’re doing this out of jealousy, you’re proving a point, tryin’ to claim me as yours,” Dean all but snarled at him.  “None of those are good reasons to have sex.”

“Ah, but we can fix those with sex,” Sam challenged back, peeling his own clothes off because he knew damn well Dean would have a damn hard time saying no to his body.  It was his (not so) secret weapon.  He even kicked off his boxers, crouching on the bed without a hint of modesty.  Sam grabbed his cock and began to loosely jerk it.  “Mm.  I want everything to be better.  But more than anything?  I want you.”

Dean’s eyes doubled in size and he couldn’t tear them away from Sam’s goddamn phenomenal, muscled and sweat-glistening form if he tried.  His mouth went dry so Dean had to swallow hard, watching the show unfold in front of him.  This was…completely unfair.

He wanted Sam.  But the reasons, the things that spurred this moment to fruition were all wrong.  Every last bit of it was wrong and Dean was going to have a friggin’ anxiety attack over it.

Sam wantonly shifted and fucked up into his fist, teasing Dean, “Don’t you want to feel this?”

Dean couldn’t say a word, because he didn’t trust his answer.  Sam knew and took full advantage of that.  He’d seen this face before, he knew what it meant—that Dean was beginning to tip in Sam’s direction, and he had to tread carefully to get what he wanted.

Sam grabbed the lube from his duffle and coated his fingers.  He crawled down between Dean’s legs (thanking God he’d ripped his clothes off early, or there may be a fight now) and promised, “I’m gonna take such good care of you.”  That was right before he easily slid in a single finger.

Sam hummed in appreciation, knowing he’s be able to take a second right away and he did just that.  As he pumped his fingers in and out of Dean’s puckered hole, he watched him worrying his bottom lip, refusing to make a sound with his eyes squeezed shut.   
  
Which was not what Sam had wanted, not at all.  So he deliberately searched, curling his fingers, stroking Dean’s insides, until a sharp inhale sucked in through his teeth let Sam know he’s found his sweet spot.

“So good, baby,” Sam praised and continued to stroke it, “Don’t hold back.  I want to hear you.”  He noticed that Dean had a white-knuckled grip on the bed sheets with made Sam frown, because those were supposed to be wrapped around him.

They still had time, Sam decided, and leaned forward (taking that chance) to kiss Dean with a filthy passion.  His response was…different.  It was as though he was giving Sam the bare-minimum to work with, so he couldn’t get pissed off, or something.  So Sam tried harder.  And slide a third finger into Dean’s body.  This was tighter, Dean gasped inside Sam’s mouth and he hoped this was the tipping point.

“Do you like that, Dean?  Feeling full of my fingers?  Just wait until it’s my cock,” he whispered into his ear, then licked a long stripe up his throat.  “Tell me you want my cock.  Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he ordered, his finger plunging on the right side of rough and Dean was starting to whimper.

Sam didn’t know what to do.  If Dean didn’t break now, if he didn’t verbally say that he wanted it…there was no way Sam would go through with it.  He’d just…leave.  Take a cold shower, think about what a fucking failure he was (in every friggin way) and then go to his own room, cursing his existence.

Up until now, Dean hadn’t stopped him, he hadn’t exactly encouraged him, but the moans of pleasure were enough to spur Sam on.  But…if Dean didn’t explicitly say that he wanted sex, Sam couldn’t, he wouldn’t, he’d never do that to anyone, let alone the man he loved.

The time…it stretched on.

So much, in fact, that Sam pulled his fingers out and slumped his head in defeat.  He could feel Dean’s eyes on him, watching his every move.  It was just before the rejection sunk into his bone that Dean spoke up.

“Okay, Sammy.”  Dean then ordered, spreading his legs wide, “Fuck me and make me forget about all the bullshit.  Fuck me until I can’t remember it.  Fuck me until it’s only you and me—like it’s supposed to be.”

The wash of relief was tangible, and the fire in Sam’s eyes was ignited once more, flames licking Dean’s body as Sam grabbed the lube and covered his cock.  He promised, as he positioned himself right against Dean’s puffy hole, “It’s only you and me.  Nothing, no one, not a goddamn thing matters but us—”

With the last few words, he sank in, leaving both men groaning and panting.  Finally, Sam rejoiced as Dean’s arms finally released the sheets and surged up to wrap around his neck.  Dean didn’t waste anytime, and Sam didn’t know if it was a good thing or not, given his headspace.    
  
Sam didn’t want to hurt him, but when he had Dean writhing and grinding on his erection, trying to shove it further into his body...well, that was a damn good reason to move.

He could see that Dean needed it rough, he needed to forget and tonight was not the night to make love.  It was about to be bodies slapping together, getting physical, rough, nearly assaulting one another as they both sought out pleasure.  They were gasping for air, but still searching for each other's lips, because they couldn’t get enough.

Once the switch was flipped, Sam rejoiced.

Dean was mouthy, he was pushy, and he loved to leave those marks almost as much as Sam.

They were magnets, unable to get enough, and even though they could feel their orgasms beginning to warm their bellies, the pace never faltered.  Everything was tongues and teeth, it was grabbing hands and pulled hair, manipulating the other's body as one saw fit.

It was rough and violent in the best way possible.

Dean didn’t even warn Sam when he came, he only felt the hot rush of cum between their bodies along with an unabashed loud moan.  But what Dean didn’t know was that Sam, mere seconds after he came, deliciously clenching around Sam’s cock—it had him blowing his load inside Dean.

“Fuck yes—”  Dean fought to catch his breath, nuzzling into the juncture of Sam’s neck and shoulder.  “That was amazing.”

“Damn right, it was.”  Sam took a chance, looked down to the love of his life and said without fear, “I love you, Dean.  All I wanna do is make you happy.  Will you…stay with me tonight?  I know it’s a little crowded, but—”

“Yeah,” he nodded, booze making him sleepy and Sam making him see stars.  “I think I can do that.”

“Thank you, God, thank you.”  He wrapped his brother in the tightest hug and could feel the prickle of tears beyond his eyes.

There was a beat before Dean admitted, “Tonight, we’ll forget about everything.  But…I’m still walking the forgiveness line.  I just…I can’t help it.”

“I understand,” Sam immediately agreed.  “One good roll in the sheets isn’t going to solve our problems.  I…just needed you tonight.  So bad.  Needed to know you still wanted me, loved me.  We’ll work through the rest later.  Thank you for letting me have this,” his voice was just shy of a whisper.

“You know I can’t say no to you, Sammy.”  Dean chuckled, “Never could.  Never will.  Think that may be the bitch about love.”

“I think so, too.”

They made the most of the small bed, Dean practically draped over Sam’s body, but neither of them minded too much.  It was comfortable, they’d done this in the Impala more times than they could count, and at least Bobby had accounted for their height when he put in the bedroom’s growing up.

This was a little beat of calm in the middle of the storm, pressed together, letting their problems just fade away for the night.

Until, in his sleep, Uriel appeared in Dean’s dreams.  He hated seeing his smarmy face, but the words, _oh fuck_ , the words and the ultimatum was the worst.  This time, he wasn’t sure he could save everyone because the stakes were too high.  
  
The dick with wings gave him the choice to end all choices.  Because he “knew his weak spot.”  Uriel was unaware (as long as Cas hadn’t blabbed, which Dean couldn't have even been sure of anymore) just how huge this ‘weak spot’ was.     
  
Obviously…Dean didn’t (he couldn't) blink at this bargain.  But something interesting and significant that he did notice, that the asshat was bragging about?

He was flaunting Anna’s grace around his neck in a crystal-shaped vial.

Time for a new plan.  But not until he got his rest, not until he spent these last stolen moments with Sam before shit hit the fan.  Dean felt like he deserved it, dammit, he was going to take it.

\---------------------------

At first, everyone was shocked at Castiel and Uriel’s sudden appearance.  They were supposed to find another way, they were supposed to fight them, they were—

Yet, Dean didn’t so much as raise a finger as the pair moved and grabbed Anna.  He stood there quietly with a certain amount of shame as they took her.  Hell, he merely made eye contact with Cas, and the angel gave him a nod.  Castiel of all people knew damn well why he couldn't say no.

Sam had demanded what he was doing, how they even knew where they were but—

Once it was revealed that Uriel gave the choice between Anna and Sam, no one was surprised.  No one had any arguments, it was black and white.

“It’s all right,” Anna had promised both men with a soft smile and a, “I understand.”  She also noticed the grace around Uriel's neck from the corner of her eye.  Anna instantly recognized this asshole was wearing _her_ grace.

Just before they could leave, Alastair busted through the door with a torn-up Ruby and…shit got ugly.  Sam didn’t miss the way Dean flinched at the sight of him.  He could read his brother like a book on a good day, and something like this, no matter how small, worried him.  Now, because of how tentative their situation, their entire relationship was, Sam was hyper-aware of _any_ tells.  Dean was afraid of this demon—there was a reason.

Right now, Dean was shouting out, “Cas!” because Alastair had thrown him against a wall and now had the angel by the throat.

Sam was pretty damn surprised that Dean was ready to charge into battle to help this angel, even though he didn’t stand a fucking chance —which he also noted and would remember for later—right as Anna snatched the grace from around Uriel’s neck and threw it on the ground.

The glass exploded into a million pieces and an explosion of light made the room shake and rumble, the beams and wood were mere moments away from caving in.  The second the blinding power died down, Anna stood strong in the middle of it.

An warrior angel fueled by her own grace and endless power, once more.

The one thing she hated, but was reborn as to _save them._

Alastair dropped Castiel like a bag of rocks, knowing there was no way for him to win and disappeared.  Hell, all of them disappeared, now that the angels couldn’t collect ‘the girl’ anymore, as she was their equal, and Dean was left staring where he’d previously been.

Now an eerie silence stretched out between them.  Ruby gloating about how “her and Sam’s plan had worked out perfectly, pitting the angels and demons against one another,” and as happy as Sam was that it had worked out (even though Dean was miffed he hadn’t been privy to the details), Sam was worried about his brother.

Was it Alastair?  Why was Dean was scared of this demon in particular?  What was their history, they had to have one for the reaction he garnered.  Did he need Sam to comfort him, because he would in a second...

Or was it Castiel?  Had Dean been scared for him?  That thought had Sam grinding his teeth, because if his brother didn’t think he hadn’t noticed their special little bond?  Sam _had_.  And if there was more to it than that—

 _No_.  He needed to stop himself right there.  God, the demon blood was kicking his jealousy into full-force again and this wasn’t him!  Sam wasn’t this shoot first, ask questions later, guy.  He never jumped the gun, he always thought logically and would talk things through, never assuming the worst.  But more than anything—he trusted his brother.  
  
Now, he constantly fucking went from zero to one-hundred and he hated it.  These days, Sam had to talk himself down, his words, his actions, his choices, this wasn’t the man Dean should have come back to.  This wasn't the person he'd fallen for.

Sam needed to be that man for him.  Especially now.  Something was wrong, even though he’d stood up and flashed a smile over their “victory” and suggesting they “hit the road.”

He _would_ figure it out, and it wouldn’t be by force.  So Sam smiled back and nodded.  “Yeah, let’s head out.”

\----------------------------

This was too much.  It was eating away at Dean from the inside, and he knew damn well that Alastair was still out there.  He would snap, everything would crumble and he’d be buried underneath the rubble of the wall he’d built.  That’s why he’d pulled over by a park and suggested they had a couple beers.

To be honest?

If Dean had kept driving, his hands were bound to shake, he wouldn't risk the Impala swerving on the road because of an impending breakdown.  He couldn't hide something that obvious, dammit.  Dean needed grounding, he needed something calming.  He needed—

He needed Sam.

Dean knew this was going to be difficult…it may be the fucking hardest thing he’d ever done, but he had to get it out.  He needed to confess his sins, in a way, he owed it to Sammy, and hopefully, maybe, things would get better if he wasn’t carrying the weight alone.

Or maybe something else would occur.  Maybe Sam would look at him in disgust and wonder why the fuck he was with such a beaten down, waste of space.

Either way.  It had to happen, he was at his wits end.

“It wasn’t four months, you know.”  Dean cursed himself for such a god-awful opener, clenching the glass bottle so tight it may crack.

Sam was leaning back on the hood of the Impala next to him and squinted at the icebreaker, trying to figure it out before he finally had to ask, “What?”

With a deep breath, Dean said the words evenly with detachment.  He was imagining himself reading lines off a piece of paper, but ended up fumbling all the same.  “It might’a been four months up here but…I dunno, man.  Down there, time is different.  It was more like forty years.”

“God,” Sam’s jaw dropped and he turned to face him so quick, he could’ve gotten whiplash.

Then, once Dean started in…he couldn’t stop—

“Hell…the word don’t do it justice.  They strung me up and carved and sliced and tore into me in ways that—they…just kept going until there was nothing left.  And all of a sudden, I was me again.  I was whole, just like fuckin’ magic, just so they could do it over and over—” Dean closed his eyes, transfixed at the memory—the image of the blades, both sharp and dull depending on the torturer's mood reflecting his blood and his insides.  “Alastair.”  He nearly gagged around the word.  “At the end of every day, every goddamn one’a them.  He would come over.”

Dean's hand rose to cover his brow and wipe away the cold sweat, he could feel his limbs trembling as he relived it on this sick replay, but he owed it to Sammy.  “Alastair would make me an offer: he’d take me off the rack, if I-I put souls on, if I started the torturing instead.  And everyday, I told him to go fuck himself.  For thirty goddamn years, I told ’em that.”

“But then I couldn’t do it anymore, Sammy.  I couldn’t,” he quaked, as his tongue formed the words, “And I...got off the rack.  God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart.  Fuck, I lost count.  The things I did to those souls—”

Suddenly, Sam was right in his face.

Dean didn’t know where either of their beers had gone, but he knew that his brother’s palms were cupping his cheeks and all he saw were intense hazel eyes.

“Dean,” Sam tried to get his attention, but he was still so wrapped up in the nightmare, “Dean, _please_.  Thirty years.  You held out for thirty years.”  He pressed their foreheads together, his thumbs wiping away the free-falling tears.

With a whisper, Sam pressed with all the emotion he could, “That’s longer than anyone would have, you’re strong, you’re—”

“How I feel, I can’t—” he swallowed hard, arms hanging limp but he tried to move them.  “This…inside me…I wish I couldn’t feel anything, Sammy.”

Finally, his hands shot up to grab Sam’s wrists and hold on desperately, just for a second because he _needed_ the touch (God, did he need it so badly) but then he pulled Sam’s comfort away with a sharp, “I wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing,” and turned his back.

Dean knew he was crumbling, he was falling apart and no matter what, no matter how old, when it was, where they were—fuck, _he_ was supposed to be the strong one.  He was supposed to take care of Sam and he couldn’t let him see him like this.  Yeah—Sam needed the truth, that was what they were doing.

They were fixing things from the ground floor, coming clean, but now that Dean had been downstairs?  The foundation they’d built never had anything about a basement in the blueprints.  Maybe he’d fucked everything up.  No—he _absolutely_ had, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it was ruined.

He’d just confessed something unforgivable to someone who loved wholeheartedly and would try to make any excuse for him, and Dean just didn’t fucking deserve it.  Shit!  There were no easy answers, hell, there were no right answers, and as he angrily wiped the tears away he felt something tugging on his pocket.

On reflex alone, he jerked back to see Sam with the keys to the Impala.  He was already going to work, putting the cooler in the back seat, packing up what was outside and pulling on his jacket.  Sam didn’t even bother with pretense as he stated, “Get in the car.  The sun’s gonna set soon and I need a shower.”

While Dean had no way to take that, at least it was something that didn’t require a verbal answer.  So instead, with his eyes on the ground, just followed submissively behind.  He didn’t even bother giving Sam shit and a set of guidelines to drive Baby.  He was…just too damn tired.  Of everything.

He’d meant it when he said he wished he didn’t feel a goddamn thing, because then it would be simple.

Everything was up in smoke, complicated, tearing at the seams, and Dean couldn’t even sleep at night because of visions of Hell.

Now, ever since he’d seen Alastair was on Earth?  He felt like he was never even safe to close his eyes.  He had visions during the day, too, everything was fucked.  Why couldn’t death simply be the end?  No pearly white gates, no flaming pits just…nothingness.  That was something Dean longed for.

A simple black abyss where he ceased to exist.  God, these days it was all he wanted.

\------------------------------

With no idea how long he’d zoned out, images of Hell mixing in his mind with images of Earth, he was shocked to find them parked in front of a motel.  Not only that, it was dark out, Sam had two duffle bags slung over one shoulder, and the other hand was reaching for him.  Dean was baffled he had honestly been that far gone.

He stood up without the offered hand and shut the door, but followed behind Sam who didn’t bother to scoff or sound annoyed.  Shit it looked like he’d even booked the room and everything, there was already a key in his hand.

When they entered the room, Dean…wasn’t sure how he felt about the king-sized bed.

Maybe he was trigger shy after his confession, maybe he felt he was tainted, he was dirty and vile and Sam shouldn’t want anything to do with him.  Which was why Dean just kind of lingered in the doorway.  After all, Sam had set Dean’s bag on the side of the bed he’d always claimed.  As they always did.

It was familiar, it would have been a perfect night, in actually decent digs if he wasn’t completely out of his mind with…whatever this was.    
  
God, he needed to be checked into the loony bin, is what he needed.  He couldn’t even pretend, right now.  Usually, Dean could give himself a mental kick in the ass and snap out of it, be the actor he needed to be but—

He didn’t have to with Sam.

Not unless it was for Sammy’s benefit, usually.

Apparently, he felt like he’d crossed the point of no return, so why even bother?

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was closer than he thought, and if he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted, he probably would’ve jumped and smacked him in the arm.

But instead he turned and looked at him, knowing his eyes were red-rimmed and deadened.

Slowly, Sam began by removing his jacket, since he was still frozen at the entrance.  He folded it in half and let it hang over the chair right by the door.  But then he started to pull Dean to the other side of the room and continued, unbuttoning his flannel and pushing it over his shoulders, then tossing it to the floor.  

It wasn’t until they were in the center of the room that Dean finally got with the program and heard the hissing of a running shower.  There was fog already greeting him, coming out from the bathroom as Sam expertly pulled off his jeans, like he was a damn rag doll, and it was only then that Dean realized he was doing the thing.

“The thing” was a bad habit.  Or maybe a good habit?  He wasn’t sure.  Sometimes.  When he was drunk or quite simply in a tunnel-vision mode and he saw Sam, all he saw were his eyes.  It was because he could always tell when he was lying, when he was trying to conceal a smile, when he was—

Basically, all he needed to know, all he needed to see was alive and danced in that gorgeous hazel stare.  And, now that Sam was on the ground, pulling off his socks and boots, he realized with somewhat of a jarring discovery, the only damn thing on Sam’s body were his boxers.  

Then, all at once, he panicked.

Once Sam was at eye level, Dean stumbled out, “I-I can’t, it’s not—we—”

“We’re not,” he emphasized heavily, knowing exactly where Dean’s mind was going because, let’s face it—it went there a lot.  “We’re just taking a shower.”

With his brows scrunched in confusion and a bit of curiosity, after his boxers dropped, Dean allowed Sam’s hand to take his this time.  He pulled him under the almost-too-hot but needed water, and the physical sensation, the comforting feeling of the heat eased a bit of the tension out of Dean’s shoulders.  And Sam held him right there, under the spray.

He could probably see Dean’s previous stiffness (almost fit to burst) slowly begin to wash down the drain, and he slowly moved.

Dean kept his eyes shut because this distraction?  Was pretty fucking awesome.  Out of all the time they had together, he was almost sure they’d never shared a shower, shower.  Showering was always a chore, a “let’s get this monster blood out of my hair and pass out,” or “okay, clean up and get to sleep,” or rarer still: “let’s have a quick fuck” kind of deal.

But Sam was doting on him, and when Dean turned to face the nozzle, the fingers massaging against his scalp felt amazing.  Sam would slowly lead him, taking the reins for probably another first, but Dean didn’t have it in him to fight it.  

Even when Sam was washing his body and slowly kissing the patches of skin on his neck that didn’t have soap on them, it was something...so completely different.  Dean knew this would never happen again, he’d never let it happen again, but right now?  Everything was so…raw.

Once Sam rinsed his hair, his arms wrapped around Dean and just held him.  The water soaking his skin made his fingers glide easily as he tried to work out a few knots along Dean’s back that was riddled with nothing but tension and strain.  But the point was, by the end, Dean held onto him in return.

And once they turned off the shower, dried themselves and put on a set of actual pajamas (not clothes for a jump-out-of-bed-and-let’s-get-hunting) Dean wasn’t intimidated by the king sized bed.  He thought, okay, maybe it was all right for his brother to repay the favor and take care of him.

When they both crawled in, it looked like Sam had a million words to say, just waiting on the tip of his tongue.  But the look Dean shot him was an instant “don’t you dare.”  Sam understood perfectly, and even though he looked a little disappointed, be decided to push some boundaries just before they fell asleep.

He spoke without word, leaning over and capturing Dean’s lips with his own, but not boxing him in.  Dean had full freedom to pull away, hell, even turn away—there was nothing forward about this.  He knew damn well Sam had been holding off for what was probably the entire day, and fuckin’ a, his mouth felt so good against his.

It was natural, reassuring and something Dean didn’t even know he needed so fucking bad until right now.  In fact, he was the one who reached up and wrapped his hand in the wet locks at the base of Sam’s skull, licking inside his mouth.

And, oh, was the surprised moan and brief stumble it caused so worth it.

He’d have to play it safe though, because Sam had the tendency to escalate in the blink of an eye.  Dean kissed him tenderly—in a way, it was kind of like a thank you.

Thank you for putting up with my loser-ass.  For my bullshit.  For the horrible person I’ve become.  For trying to keep on loving me.

That last thought actually caused Dean’s breathing to hitch a little because…that was something Sam would do.  So for the first time in who knows how many hours, Dean pulled away and sat, staring at Sam and gathering his words carefully.  It was so difficult, because the light blush on his cheeks and the hints of longing in his eyes made this something he never wanted to lose.

“I…I need you to promise me something,” Dean managed to spit out, sounding like a normal human being and not like he was going to have yet another breakdown today.

Sam was lying on his stomach from where Dean had fled.  With wide and imploring eyes, he nodded and said, “Anything, Dean.”

“What I said.  What I…did.  I know we’re on shaky ground already, but I don’t want you force it.  To make yourself love me.  I know you’ll want to.  Because you’re too, I don’t know, _good_ , not to.  And no matter what, we really never let each other go.  To the point we get in trouble.  But...”  He paused, trying to find the right words.  “You know what I mean, right?  This?  Us?  I’ve…changed.  And you don’t have to feel the same way as you did, because…trying to love what I’ve become is just lying to both of us.”

Affronted and downright angry, Sam sat up and returned, “Dean.  What happened to you—it only makes you stronger in my book.  I don’t know anyone who could’ve gone through that and not be a ball rolling in the corner!”  He moved up the bed so they were on the same level.  “It proves what I already know.  You…can make it through _anything_.  I-I’ve always looked up to you, and I wish that I was as strong as you.”

Dean had not been prepared for that at all.  “Sammy…what I did—”

“Is what you had to.  To survive.”  He was absolute, and his gaze was something fierce.  “I’ll tell you that as many times as you need.  I’ll be your broken record.  I’ll be here when you need a time-out from the rest of the world.  I’m not going anywhere, and I sure as hell am not ’trying to love you.’”

The last words were spat out and Sam hauled Dean back down so they were laying in bed once more.  He kissed his breathless, made Dean’s heart speed up and his head spin circles, he was so dizzy as they held each other and kissed the other for all their were worth.  When they pulled away, their hands were still wandering still caressing.

Sam was hovering above, his hair almost brushing Dean’s forehead when he emphasized, “I can’t stay away.  Trying _not_ to love you, now that would be the challenge.  And it’s not happening.”

Dean reached up to cradle Sam's cheek and just took in the moment.  Everything in Sam told him how vehemently he meant it.  How passionate he was about this, about Dean, even after what he’d done.  He closed his eyes, let his arms wrap around Sam and used brute strength to tackle him down.

“Fuck, you’re insane, Sammy.  But…thank you for being batshit crazy.”

The way Sam held him, it was as though he was worried he’d disappear again.  He held him like this a lot.  One of these days, Dean would bring it up, but right now in this moment?  It just felt good to be wanted, even when the worst was out.  He just prayed that Sam meant those words, and that everything he’d done for Dean wasn’t a sweet last hurrah.

Because he had no idea what the hell he’d do without the man tangled up with him right now.  Dean probably wouldn’t make it.


	5. Something Real

Dean had been so goddamn embarrassed about his freak out he pretended that it straight-up never happened.  The next morning was a sneak-peek into the next couple hunts.  Hell, Dean had erected a mask of such epic proportions that it threw them back _years_.  As though he didn’t want to _think_ about the contract, about the Hellhounds, about Hell itself even existing.

It was so hit and miss about which Dean he was getting today, that Sam was becoming increasingly frustrated.

Some days and some hunts, Dean was his cheeky self and didn’t have a problem getting a King at night, but others he _instantly_ cut Sam off at the desk, and smoothly requested two beds.  It was hard to keep up because he was all over the place!  Shit, Dean probably didn’t even know what he was doing in the midst of all this avoidance.

This…dance between them.  Sam wanted to help, God, did he want to.  But in order to do that, he’d need to broach the topic again, and his brother wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pole.  He’d probably rather pump Sam full of rocksalt than talk about it.  So Sam honestly had no idea where it left him.

He was in this weird limbo.  Especially because, yeah, there were nights that Dean let him fall asleep with their bodies intertwined together after a few lazy kisses, but other nights he wouldn’t even entertain the idea of sleeping in the same bed!

How was Sam supposed to feel?!  And on top of this…he was getting shaky.  Sam was craving his next fix something awful, and it had him on edge in a whole different way.

Jesus, it was like Sam didn’t have a handle, didn’t have a modicum of control over _anything_ right now.  He was spiraling and everything that he wanted was outside his reach.

That’s why when Ruby called he’d nearly jumped for joy.  He spoke with her in the bathroom while Dean slept in his own bed (for the second night in a row, for God knows _what_ reason) and she told him about demon signs that may link up with Lilith, but more importantly a time they should meet.  Because Sam was running low.  He’d learned the hard way he couldn’t run out because sometimes Ruby went underground, he needed to refill before the blood was gone.

Sam hung up and walked back into the room, talking a moment to cast his gaze across Dean’s sleeping form, frowning because he should be in bed _beside_ him.  And he wasn’t.  What was worse?  Sam didn’t know how to make things right and get that place back in his life for good.

He had this feeling that during Dean’s breakdown, he felt like Sam was forcing himself to be with Dean and some days he’d accept that, others he wouldn’t.  But that was absolute _horseshit_.  And if Dean could just give him the chance to prove it—

No.  Sam shook his head and cleared his throat.

“Hey, just got off the phone with Bobby,” Sam announced, Dean popped up awake and instantly on guard, “We’ve got three men in Bedford, Iowa who’ve killed their wives.”

“Well, good morning to you, too.”  Dean grumbled and swung his legs to the side of the bed, “Time for some investigating.”

\-----------------------------

There were so many things about this case that pulled the brothers in too many directions, given their already fragile relationship.   All of the leads led to high stress situations and, more than that, temptation.  It brought into question where their loyalties were these days.  It all had to do with the fact that, after their investigation, it appeared they were hunting a siren.

Finding that out had been one hell of a ride.

Sam was following their first lead, after they found out that the first man in the string of murders claimed he was in love with a stripper named Jasmine (and a steady stream of Disney Princess names began to follow, which was mildly horrifying).  The man killed himself soon after she vamoosed.  Obviously, Sam headed to meet with the doctor who conducted the autopsy.

There was absolutely no denying the fact that she was flirting with Sam.  But the interesting thing about Doctor Cara was that she found high levels of oxytocin in the man’s blood.  Basically, love in a chemical form.  In the middle of one deliberately cheeky comment, Dean happened to walk into the room to join his fellow Federal Agent and did a double-take.

“Wow, should I leave you two alone?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Not if you want me to do my job,” the woman smoothly interjected, “your partner is very, very distracting.”

That wasn’t good.  Sam looked over at Dean, hoping he could make some kind of expression to say she was overreacting.  But what could he hope to accomplish?

“Well,” Dean flashed a smile and said, “we’ll be following up on a tip.  If you have anymore information you remember, or something new comes up, I’m sure my _distracting_ partner has given you his information.”

She winked and waved them out of the office.  
  
When they were walking down the hallway, Sam instantly needed to clear the air and protested, “Dean, that’s not what it looked like, she—”

“Whatever, Sam.  I told you before.  You can do what you want, I’m not forcing you or laying claim on you.”  His words were punctuated by his quick footsteps, and the moment they were out of the building, Sam grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

“Dammit!  You’re not even _listening_!  You’re not even trying, you’re—”

“We’ve got a case.  This isn’t the time,” Dean warned him, and tacked on, “Besides.  We’ve got a strip club to investigate!” with a near genuine smile.

One that Sam fucking hated.  And it wasn’t because this was a time where Dean seemed honestly happy and it hadn’t been Sam to make him, oh no.  It was because he knew damn well of Dean’s previous penchant for strip clubs.  And strippers.  And waitresses at strip clubs.  And bartenders at strip clubs.  Just about every single thing you could imagine, it used to be Dean’s little safe haven.  So Sam trudged over to the passenger’s side in defeat, and wondered if this was going to be used against him.

Fuck.

\------------------------------

The next day, when Sam was—God knows where—and Dean had hopped out of the shower he noticed his brother had left his phone.  These days?  Dean had very, very few fucks to give, and he knew damn well yesterday Sam _hadn’t_ been talking to Bobby on the phone.  When he’d pretended to be ‘sleeping’ Sam was chatting it up about demons with someone different.

Still, Dean needed to be quick.

There was a number in Sam's phone that wasn’t linked to a contact, but the conversation lasted five minutes.  Yep, it was right around where Dean estimated he’d woken up to his brother's hushed chat of what he knew had been a lie.  He pushed the button and let it ring.

After about three trills, a very familiar voice picked up and said, “Sam?  Hey, Sammy?”

Instantly, Dean hung up, a born-again _fury_ in his gut.  Fuck, he wanted to growl out something awful, he wanted to chuck that phone against the wall, but he couldn’t!

Why the hell was his brother _still_ talking with Ruby?  Just as he’d accused Sam of, like they were besties, like they were…

He abruptly sat the phone down and tried to take in deep breaths.  Because he very well may cause a goddamn scene when Sam returned, if he didn’t chill the fuck out.

Sure, Dean didn’t blame Sam for moving on, he kind of expected it.  Hoped for more for his little brother.  But not with a demon.  With anyone _but_ Ruby.  It just…it wasn’t right.  That’s not how it was supposed to go, it could’ve been _anyone_ , it could’ve even been that slutty doctor—

Okay, fine.  Dean admitted he still wasn’t ready to let go, but he _needed_ to be prepared.  It seemed like that was the way everything was leaning anyway.  Dean groaned and doubled over from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and that’s when Sam busted through the door.

“Bobby figured it out!  The spell the men are under?  It‘s a siren‘s venom,” Sam eagerly spoke with his hands, sitting across from Dean and explaining, “The way to kill her is a bronze dagger, dipped in the blood of one of her victims.  So it’s poisoning _her_.  But…that’s the hard part.  We’ve got to figure out who’s her next vic…” Sam deflated a little after that.  

“I mean, it’s almost like she’s staking out the Honey Wagon, right?” Dean suggested with a shrug, “Maybe we could look for some poor sap there.”

“Yeah.”  Sam’s teeth were ground together, but it didn’t look like he had another idea.  “We can do that.”

\--------------------------

That suggestion was how they ended up at the strip club all night, rather than their initial stake-out, drinking casually.  Except, Dean was throwing money at the strippers which drew their attention, while Sam surveyed the scene and tried not to be filled with insane, absolute jealousy.  

Because, it turned out these women?  They liked Dean.  They liked him very, very, very much.  Even the ones who weren’t dancing.

But the second one approached Sam, he’d politely decline.

It looked as though his brother was playing him like a fucking fiddle, because he told Sam, “Aw, c’mon!  Bet Destiny is working her way through college!  Oh, _oo_ , Lola is supporting two kids at home.  They’re hard-working, independent women, Sammy!  Show ‘em some love.”

“I’d really rather not,” he mumbled, wrapping his mouth around the beer he was drinking and chugging.  Like, draining it.  So much so that the waitress instantly replaced it in his hand, and he thoughtfully said, “At least there’s good service.  But we’re supposed to be on a stakeout, Dean.  You can pick your next hook-up later.  Maybe after we find the siren?”

Dean barely-almost-kind-of twitched at the word 'hook-up,' and Sam had no idea what that was supposed to mean.  Whether it was a good thing or a bad thing had yet to be seen.  Whether this was a show or not, whether he was trying to pull one on Sam, or not…

But when Dean abruptly said, “Gotta hit the bathroom,” Sam thought nothing of it.

He continued to look around and hope for the best, watching for something suspicious and sighing.

\-----------------------

Yeah.  Dean _was_ acting out a bit.  But could anyone blame him?  It was the perfect setup to see how Sam handled it, to see how things were between them.  And, as he washed his hands, it was looking a lot like Sammy was conceding defeat.

Until Sam was behind him, hauling him up and over to slam him against the wall and growling, “Do you get off on this?”

Dean’s eyes were wide when he stumbled over his words.  “Uh…on what?”

“On making me jealous?  Putting me on the spot?  Making me have to work for it while you have a grand fucking time rubbing this shit in my face,” Sam snapped with fistfuls of his jacket.  “Now, we’re going back to the motel.  I’m done, and we have lost time to make up for.”

With his breath coming out in pants, and his already interested cock beginning to strain through his pants, Dean nodded.   “Okay, I’m fine with this.  Let’s get out of here.”

Sam leaned forward, just enough to suck a mark into Dean’s neck, making his knees buckle and sent him a mischievous grin.  “C’mon, I’m not waiting anymore.”

\-----------------------------

Sam sighed and glanced at his watch with concern.  Dean had been in the bathroom too long.  He’d been watching the employees more than anyone with a sharp eye, but he hadn’t been watching the bathroom.

Now, though…Sam’s instincts were kicking in and it didn’t matter if their prime seats were left open.  He needed to find his brother.

When he pushed open the door, there was only one guy washing his hands in there.  Sam even went as far as to call out Dean’s name, but to no avail.  What…the hell was going on?  He exited instantly and looked around for anyone who could’ve seen where Dean had gone.

There was a bouncer and a bartender with a view of the bar, right there, so he went to the bartender first.  “Hey, um, sorry.  Did you happen to see a guy, little shorter than me, brown leather jacket—”

“Come out of the bathroom hot and bothered?” she snorted and laughed, “Oh, yes, I did.  Good thing they left, or else they’d have gotten kicked out.”

Sam’s stomach dropped.  But he needed to press her for more information.

“Y-you mean.  Oh, _wow_.  Did you happen to see which way they went?” Sam’s body felt like ice, he was cold and hurt at the same time.

“Ask Joey over there, I think they went out that exit.”  She pointed to the bouncer who had been Sam’s second witness, and he nodded his thanks.

The news alone was enough to give Sam trouble moving, he felt nausea, he felt sick.  Dean...had ducked out on him with someone he met in the bathroom?  He’d pulled a fast one, just to _get away_ and be with someone who wasn’t Sam?  Holy fuck, he really could throw up—

Still, Sam stood up tall when he walked over to ‘Joey’ and asked, “Hey, my friend plus one took off a little bit ago, did you see where they went?”

The man looked on in confusion, with a dropped jaw.  “Are you fucking with me?  The hell, dude…”

“No, I’m not fucking with you, I’m asking you a question,” Sam said slowly, trying not to get agitated.  “Which way did they go?  Please, help me.”

“Well, hot damn.  You must have a muthafucking twin, or doppelganger, or _something_.  ‘Cause I thought that was you!” he still looked shell-shocked, but now these words—?

Not only was Sam baffled, it was yet another punch in the gut.  Because this was not a coincidence, this was good, bad, and Dean was in trouble!  He pulled out his wallet and handed the man a wad of cash, explaining, “I need to go!”

Sam sprinted outside, then rushed as fast as he could to hot-wire a car—adrenaline flooding his system out of pure fear for his brother.

Dean had been poisoned by the siren.  But…the thing, the vision that Dean wanted most?    
  
Was Sam.     
  
So they had to be going back to the motel room…except, the bronze blade would be in the Impala!

Propelled by bitter rage, that this siren was wearing his face and had seduced Dean in a matter of _minutes_ when Sam, the real Sam, couldn’t have managed to in the last few _weeks_?  God, he hated himself even thinking about it, he was going to tear into this fucker!  He slammed his foot on the gas, flicked on his turn signal to merge and flew down the highway.

This monster would not have his way with Dean.  No, he belonged to Sam!  And if it touched him?  If he even _thought_ of doing anything to what was his?  Oh, Sam wouldn’t make it an easy death, _hell_ no.  Sam was going to rip this monster limb from limb!

\-------------------

This was perfect, all Dean had wanted was to make Sam finally snap, and damn, if he hadn’t done a good job.

Yeah, so maybe he’d been jealous of that doctor chick, he’d been furious about Ruby’s calls, but if at the end of the day it was Sammy on top of him?  Manhandling him in just the way he liked as their lips collided and their hips rutted together?  This is exactly where he wanted to be.

He missed this, God, had he missed this.

“You like that?” Sam purred, reaching down to cup Dean’s throbbing cock and stroking him through the fabric.  “I bet none of those strippers would know how to touch you, to please you like I could.”

A rush of pleasure ran through his spine and he arched up into Sam’s touch, moaning out, “Hell no.  Only you, Sammy.  God, c’mon.  Let’s get naked.  Then you can really show me whatcha got.”

He leaned just far enough away to hook his thumbs in the elastic of Dean’s boxers before a thud crashed against the door, and then a second thump kicked the entire damn thing in.

Both whipped around to see what the hell was happening, and behind the door with splintering wood flying everywhere, stood a huffing and puffing—

“Sam—?” Dean asked in confusion, while the Sam on his lap demanded, “What the hell are you?!” reaching for a nearby weapon.

“Dean!  He’s the siren!” the newcomer urged, ordering out, “I need your blood, you’re poisoned, you’re—”

“Don’t let him touch you, he’s going to slit your wrist!”  Even almost naked, Sam put himself in front of Dean and demanded, “What the fuck are you doing?  That doesn’t even make any sense!  You’re supposed to appear as a hot chick or something, seduce him and have Dean kill _me_!”

“See, that’s just the kicker, isn’t it?” he gestured with the dagger and cast a smile to the flabbergasted Dean on the bed, whose head was spinning.  “Dean.  This is proof!  We’ve…had our ups and downs.  But the venom…it makes the siren appear as what you want most.  Heh,” Sam shook his head and laughed ruefully, “I’m fucking positive the same thing would’ve happened if it’d been me.  That my siren would’ve been _you_ , Dean.  Don’t you see?  We can fix this!  We can fix _us_!”

His voice only grew in confidence when he blurted out, “Maybe it took a monster to prove it, but you still love me!  You still want me.  Jesus, you have no idea how happy that makes me.  I honestly thought you were done with me.”

The relief, the honesty and vulnerability, the sheer passion in this Sam’s voice, well, it couldn’t be replicated.  And even though a siren could dig through his memories, he couldn’t take the snapshots from Sam’s mind.  Those only belonged to his little brother.

The one pouring his heart out, that, he was right— _loved him—_ this was proof that the feelings remained so strong.

Still, the siren wasn’t to be outdone, he continued to act as a shield (probably to keep that dagger away from Dean’s blood) and urged,  “Yeah, use the puppy eyes.  As if that isn’t the key to everything.  If you really were Sam, why would you let him throw himself at those strippers?  Where’s your backbone?  Why don’t you fix all these little problems you’re pouring your heart out about?  I _am_!  Dean’s,” he flashed his eyes down to man and smiled, “he’s worth more than that.  So much more.”

“Then you’d know he needs space.  He doesn’t need—”

“Someone who loves him showing it?” Sam was instantly cut off by his mirror.

And, even though Dean knew which Sam was Sam, there was a point to that matter.  One that stung a bit.  Even though the siren protecting him couldn’t see, he glanced past him and flashed a sad smile to his brother because…he wanted that.  Now, he wished it was really Sam in that strip club bathroom taking control, he wished the Sam in front of him was the real Sam, and even though this did prove a point…

Maybe Dean’s hopes were too high.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, snapping him out of it, “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” the siren snapped, “Dean, here.”  He forcefully took the gun from the bedside table and placed it into his hand, ordering, “He’s a pathetic imitation.  Put him out of his misery.”

The weight of the gun in his palm felt heavy, so much heavier than normal and he got off the bed and took aim, as he started moving, he stopped right in the middle and asked to both of them, “Sam, why were you talking with Ruby yesterday?  And hiding it from me?”

The Sam on the bed looked down in shame and stated, “Because…she was giving me tips on Lilith.  I’m sorry I didn’t say something.”

Dean trained his gun on the other Sam, the Sam he still thought was _his Sam_ who narrowed his eyes and said, “I get it, you don’t trust me.  But I should at least have my privacy.  And, yeah, we were talking about demonic activity, but it had nothing to do with Lilith.”

Yep.  That confirmed it was his Sammy.  Pissed at the invasion of privacy, _check_.  Not having the answer Dean had on his mind for the siren to instantly zoom to, double-check.  But Dean played it up, coming closer and closer with narrowed eyes and the gun until he was in point blank range.

“You know, it really _does_ suck.  How much I love you.  How much I never want you to leave me, but I never know if you feel the same.  Too many mixed signals, like you chatting up the hottie doctor without a problem,” he snorted.  Then he taunted, “The real Sammy would’ve known exactly when I’d been gone too long.  You took, _how_ long to realize, or how long to _care_?  Until I was actually about to get some real action?  Finally?  What a joke!”

Just then, Dean was within range and he mouthed, ‘ _Cut my hand and lunge,_ ’ right before he reached out.  In perfect sync, Dean released the gun, Sam dragged the dagger over his palm and darted forward to stab the siren right in the gut.

It was eerie, seeing himself nearly naked start convulsing and then bleeding, toppling over.  He was dead by the time he rolled and hit the carpet.

Sam was in this zone.  He instantly ripped a piece of fabric to wrap Dean’s wound, no matter how small, whispered, “Thank you for believing in me,” and then did something, very, _very_ odd.

So odd, in fact, that Dean had nothing to do besides watch him.

Taking the (oversize AKA _Sam-sized_ ) siren that was beginning to decay into its normal, disgusting and decrepit form by the ankles, Sam hauled it out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.  The loud thud followed by a swooshing indicated that he’d…thrown it in the tub?  Next, Sam walked in a straight line to see if the door he’d kicked in was completely demolished or salvageable.

While the actual lock was shit, the deadbolt worked as well as the chain-lock.  Once he turned those knob’s, he nodded in satisfaction.  When Sam turned back to face Dean, he wore a smile of accomplishment.

“I would’ve, you know,” Sam began, and when Dean’s face appeared quizzical, he didn’t bother for the usual ’what.’  He plowed ahead.  “You _are_ worth so much more.  All I wanted to do was pull you away from the strippers.  Away from anyone who touched you, hell, who even batted their eyelashes at you.  But I figured if you let them, you wanted them.  It was out of respect, but when I heard you left with someone?”

Sam scoffed and began to march over, “I was seething.  I felt like I was going to puke, I couldn’t handle it.  Until I found out it was my ’doppelganger,’ and then I kept thinking if he touched you?  I was gonna tear him apart.”  Sam boldly shrugged off his jacket, then pulled off his shirt, letting them fall on the floor.  “If bold is what it takes to get you back?  Oh, I’ll be bold.  But I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

He grabbed Dean by the chin, his gaze boring holes into his brother’s eyes.  “You need to _tell me_.  Even though I know I‘m your siren, that doesn‘t mean I can just take—especially with the hot and cold lately, Dean.  You got lucky, because he was chatty.  But you know how much I still love you, God, how much I want you.  I’d do anything for you at the drop of a hat!  But you need to tell me I _can_.”

“I mean…” Dean paused to clear his throat.  “Kinda speaks for itself.  Can’t get much clearer.  Who the hell has their brother as their siren, right?  We’re kind of fucked up, but I got over that a long time ago.  I’ve been…confused lately.  Trigger-shy.  And as much as I hate that he used me, it kind of opened the floodgates…”

His eyes opened wide, because with every word of his confession, Sam had begun pulling off his own clothes, now kicking off his pants.  He was staring at Dean with needing, hungry eyes.  “Do you want me just as bad?” his voice was low and seductive, but then he glared fiercely as he saw a mark the siren had left.

Sam needed to fix it, and fix it now.  He grabbed Dean, held him in place and clamped his mouth down over the mark—making his own larger, brasher hickey to cover it up.  But he didn’t stop there.  He roughly grabbed Dean’s ass cheeks and pulled them together as he covered him with small nibbles and teasing licks of his tongue until Dean was moaning in appreciation.

With one hand lingering on his ass, and another coming up to cup his face, there was a fire in Sam’s eyes when he asked, “Tell me you want it.  That you want me,” he sucked Dean’s bottom lip, pulling it gently and teasing it with his teeth before letting go and adding, “Or else I’m going to be really jealous you liked the imitation me instead of the real deal.”

Dean couldn’t help but gasp as Sam roughly hauled him in by his rear, hips colliding and feeling Sam’s hardness through his boxers.  And that was fantastic, because, yeah, Dean was pretty damn aroused, too.  This was one of the facets of Sam he loved—one of the things that happened before Hell.

After a good hunt, after the high level of endorphins of a win, their blood ran hot.  Hell, the dead body was still in the motel room, behind a shut door, and all Sam wanted was him.  Dean could see it, plain as day, and this was _his Sam,_ so much better than the shell of the siren.

Dean shot him a smirk and roughly grabbed his long hair, forcing his head to the side as he left a red, raised patch of skin of his own.  “Hm, do your worst, Sammy.  Been waiting for this.”

They were just close enough that Sam had no problem pushing Dean back on the bed and moving his legs so his head was on the pillows and he was spread out for him like a feast.  As he kissed down his body, that statement bothered him.  He couldn’t help the question that was niggling in his brain.

“You've been waiting?” Sam echoed, mouthing at his hipbone.  “You usually give me more hints that that.  Dean, you’re a flirt, a damn tease, you always get me going so good—usually when it’s so goddamn inappropriate—and you’re saying you’ve been waiting for _me_ to make a move?”

Sam pulled Dean’s boxers not simply downward, but off his body completely.  The appreciative sigh followed by an outright moan when Sam sucked on his precum dripping head was music to Sam's ears.  But he grabbed the base of Dean's cock, looked up to his brother and waited for an answer.  

Because he wanted one, since none of it made any sense.

“Really?  Withholding a blowjob?” Dean grunted in annoyance, trying to fuck up into Sam’s fist, needing the friction like he needed air.

“Oh, I’ll withhold everything,” he announced, flicking his tongue over the slit of Dean’s cock.

That earned him something damn close to a yelp, followed by a brief momentary gasp.  Then, childishly, Dean finally answered him.  “I didn’t know where we stood, okay?  I didn’t know if you still felt the same.  If you wanted me or not.  Kinda figured you’d love me one way or another, but this is…different.”  Dean continued with evident frustration, “Didn’t know if before was an experiment, if it was you figuring things out again, and I…“  He slowly pronounced, “I had no idea if you’d want…well, this.  Really, honestly want it, Sammy.  I put the ball in your court, your choice.”

“Are you kidding?”  He was baffled.  “You know how obsessed I am, how addicted I am to you.”  Sam slowly began pumping his hand, their eye contact never wavering.  

“Now tell me,” Sam paused and reached down to the side and unzipped his bag, pulling out the lube and making quick work of covering his fingers.  As he pushed two in, knowing Dean could take it (the hearty nod was confirmation) he demanded, “What’s with the one bed, then two bed, and back again situation?”

Dean rocked against Sam’s fingers eagerly.  “M-maybe it had to do with baiting you to make a move?”  He chuckled and shook his head.  “My own way of p-prompting without pushing.  Jesus, you feel amazing,” he lifted his hips with zeal as Sam added another.  

“I don’t know, Sammy.  Everything’s all upside down, and you…you’re the only thing that I've got.  Some nights I already know when the nightmares are gonna hit.  Don’t wanna put you through the tossing and turning, shit, me jolting awake in a cold sweat,” he sat up and surprised the hell out of Sam, using his strength to shove him backward and grab the lube.

The wind was knocked from Sam’s lungs, and a loud moan of pleasure escaped when Dean lubed him up and straddled his hips.  With a cocky smile, he grabbed Sam’s dick and circled his hole, watching Sam’s eyes go wide.  When it caught, Dean let go completely and sank down until they were one.

“Fuck!”  Dean cursed, it having been so long—but the tug of war between pleasure and pain...it was _everything_ he needed.  He yearned for feeling, and he felt it with Sammy.  Dean stayed there, hovering, when he said, “The other nights, I wanted you, God, did I want you.  But you,” he raised up on Sam’s cock and slammed down, “had to be so respectful, didn’t you?”

Sam tried to say something, but Dean proved he was in charge, holding his hips down and fucking himself, using Sam like a toy.

“You used to _take_ , without a second thought, back when we had a countdown.  But guess what?” Dean was breathless, but he needed to tease him, to challenge him as he rode him like there was no tomorrow, Sam fighting to hold back.  “There’s another end of the world comin’.”  Dean dipped down and stole and air from Sam once more, kissing the hell out of him.  “So how about you man up and start taking again?”

“Oh yeah?” Sam decided he’d start to take right now.

He moved his thighs further apart and began to thrust up, fucking into Dean every time he let his body weight slam down onto Sam’s cock.  He also reached out and grabbed Dean’s hips, and once they were flush, he’d hold him there, twisting him, rocking his pelvis from side to side and showing just how deep inside his cock could reach.

Dean never bothered with staying quiet when they were in rooms like this.  He shouted out, nearly doubling over from feeling the depth and girth of Sam’s dick, stretching his insides and cursing out.

“ _Jesusfuck_ —” Dean hissed out, “We’re never hesitating again, hell, you feel fuckin’ awesome, like your cock could reach my goddamn throat—”

Sam’s grin was haughty, this time pulling him closer, sitting up just slightly because he wanted, (no, needed) to find Dean’s prostate.  That would really make him scream.  

But first, after he ground their bodies together and they were one, he couldn’t help but nip at Dean’s earlobe and whisper, “I love you so fucking much.  You’re goddamn gorgeous, you know that?  And so sexy, holy hell—”

“Heh,” Dean chuckled, and now that they were nearly face to face, he decided not to bother staying away.  He kissed Sam for all he was worth without hesitating.

And he was delicious.  He gasped into Sam’s mouth the moment he found his sweet spot and pulled him closer, their sweating bodies gliding together in this perfect, sensual rhythm, and that’s when Dean demanded, “Faster,” since Sam had taken the reins back like he always managed to do, the little shit.

“Yeah?” Sam teased, “You want me to fuck you raw?  You wanna feel it for the next week?”

“Hell yeah, Sammy.  Do your worst,” he growled, and wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck as the speed increased and his used hole felt every amazing drag of Sam’s thick erection.

Fuck the end of the world, Dean wanted this every day.

He wanted to surround himself in Sam’s warmth, feel his heat, his passion, the fervor and desire he fucked him with.  Dean wanted to drape himself in Sam’s arms, belong to him, thrive in the possession that he felt and wear that mark that he was Sam’s with pride.  Hell, Dean never wanted to stop.

His brother loved fiercely, he loved absolutely and Dean felt so goddamn special to be on the receiving end of all his affection and obsession.

Because he felt the same friggin way.

Dean couldn’t help it, once Sam had control and he was pounding his sweet spot with this renewed and uncontrollable tenacity, he tossed his head back and didn’t muffle a single sound as he came.  He could feel his release coating his body, where Sam’s was meeting his, and the whisper in his ear was a moaned out, “So fucking beautiful, Dean.  I’m gonna fill you up,” and the motion turned into slaps.  Slaps of their skin, rough and with a bruising strength.

All of Dean’s insides were hyper-sensitive and as he draped himself over Sam he sucked a claim of his own into Sam’s neck.  And then another, and another.  Because the more he left, the more Sam keened and groaned in pleasure until he was erratically thrusting and seizing into Dean’s body.

And the words that fell from Sam’s lips while he filled up Dean’s clenching hole…they were stunning.

So stunning that Dean kissed him lips, uttered, “I love you, Sammy.  Forever,” and cradled the back of his neck.

Sam’s eyes were shut, taking in the moment, and Dean didn’t blame him.  After all, he’d denied him this for so long.  Dean brushed their lips together, took in every flawless detail of his brother’s face and pushed the stray strands away from his sweating brow.  All while their chest heaved and Dean straddled Sam’s lap.

The only thing that changed was the split-second move of Dean pulling off his cock, but neither noticed.  Sam was clinging to him, and it took all the gentle caresses, the sweet words and butterfly kisses to make his own eyelids flutter open.

And when he saw adoring green eyes looking back at him with a wide smile, he accidentally said, “You’re not a dream.  This…is real.”

While Dean felt a pang of hurt in his chest, that he’d put Sam in the backseat during his own emotional rollercoaster ride, all he knew now was what came next.  Fixing it.  So he grinned and nodded.

“Nope.  Totally real.  And no take backs, either.  Tonight…made everything a helluva lot clearer.”  Dean laughed, an actual belly-laugh when he mused, “Even though it took a friggin monster to do it.  I always knew, always felt it...but didn’t know how to tell you without making you feel like you owe me something.  You’re…it.  You gave me the best year of my life.  I want more.  And I know you’re not bullshitting me.”

“Oh, God, no,” Sam was so damn avid about it, until his face fell.  “I don’t know what made you think that it changed.”  Then, just above a whisper he pointed out, “I should have stayed consistent.  It was me who put myself out there in the first place.  But you actually think I would take that back?  Ever?”

“Heh, I certainly hope not.”

Dean sealed their lips together and used pure body weight to topple Sam over and onto the bed.  He couldn’t get enough of his lips, now that everything was twenty-twenty, now that it wasn’t just a fruitless hope in the back of his mind, Sammy…God, he’d do anything for him.  And he knew damn well the feeling was returned.

It took time.  Time, a little bit of expended energy and dexterity to move under the covers together, since they refused to stop kissing.  But once they were there, exhaustion set in.

Sam had second thoughts, but when it came down to it, the words were too important to be left unsaid: “Dean.  I don’t care if you toss and turn.  Whenever you have the nightmares, I want you to wake me up so I can help you chase them away.  Let me be here for you.  Let me help you carry the weight,” he pleaded, cupping Dean’s cheek.  “I want it.  I want it so bad.”

Although he was slow to nod, he did it.  Dean actually accepted.  “All right.  We can do that.”  Then, with a shit-eating grin, he moved them into their usual positions.  The ones where they fell asleep together and quipped, “You just don’t wanna sleep alone anymore.”

With a brief huff of laughter, Sam agreed, “My feet do hang off the double beds…”

“I called it.  You just wanna get these king beds, spoil yourself.  I’ve got you figured out.”  He stole one more kiss.  “Know you better than you know yourself.”

“Oh, speaking of,” Sam mused conversationally, wrapping his arms around Dean who was nuzzling his head into the crook of Sam’s neck.  “Remind me there’s a dead body in the bathtub.  We should probably take care of that in the morning.”

“Oh yeah.  I’m sure we’ll remember,” he hummed in amusement as Sam kissed his forehead.  “Just another day in the life, right?”

“Except now, it’s better.  I have you back.  Finally.  And that makes everything...perfect.”

“You’re damn easy to please,” Dean said with a lightness in his heart he hadn’t felt since before Hell.  “Then again, I think I am, too.  And it’s ‘cause of you.”

“We’re never gonna lose this again. This time, I refuse, nothing’s getting in the way.  I love you.”

Dean smiled brightly and promised, “You won’t have to put up much of a fight.  No fuckin’ up and pushing the boundaries, though—I may have picked up one of your bad habits.”

“Which one?”  Sam’s interest was piqued.

“You’re mine,” he tightened his squeeze around him.  “Forever.  Anyone tries anything, like that doctor chick?  I’ve got an arsenal.”

“Aw, you’re romantic,” he teased back, but he meant it.

Dean pointed out, one more time, “I wasn’t the one who dragged a corpse into the other room, out of sight, just so it wouldn’t be a cock-block.”

“Hey, it worked didn’t it?” he tried to defend, because at the time Sam was all hell-fire and determination to make everything better.  He was about to solve all their problems in one calculated move, and he did.  Then, Sam huffed and ruefully admitted with a sigh, “Yeah, you are right, I’m probably never gonna live that one down...” and everything was all right, just as it should be.  They were together again, building the house up from the foundation with nothing that could tear down their progress, from here on out.  That was an amazing feeling, and they'd already begun construction.


End file.
